Infiltrating the Heart
by Laredo Grissom
Summary: Sequel to A Life Less Tampered. To understand this fic, you should read the first one. AU WIP
1. It takes a steady hand

Summary: Sequel to A Life Less Tampered - To understand this fic, you should read the first one.

Disclaimer: Yeah right, like I could ever afford to own them.

A/N: This story only saw 3 chapters ever written and it was not what I had planned for it. So, I have started re-writing it. I want to thank all those that had left reviews on the last attempt. I appreciated the thoughts and loved the encouragement. However, I hope this will be more in line with what I intended for the story.

Give me a shout if you find any errors, I'm not afraid. And if you really like this, I'd like to hear from you.

Oh, not to forget, this is an A/U. For those of you who are new, that means Alternate Universe. For those who already knew the meaning, please keep that in mind when reviewing. I did announce it.

* * *

Previously in A Life Less Tampered, we found out Sara was once a child protégé, detainee at The Centre – an organization created to exploit gifted children for The Centre's benefit.

She escaped and found a home in college, Harvard. She bonded with a guest instructor, Dr. Gilbert Grissom from the Las Vegas Crime Lab. But their plans for her to intern with him in the summer were put aside. She had been found, not by The Centre, but by a fellow detainee. Together they formed an alliance with the CIA and were able to put an end to the reign of terror at The Centre.

Afterwards, she disappeared.

It was a couple of years later, while working in San Francisco that Grissom met up with her again on a case. They shared a night of passion, a tryst that neither could resist, but he left the next day, returning to his home in Las Vegas.

When in desperate need of a neutral eye, Grissom called her to Vegas, to help him put some order back into a chaotic situation. Her instinct told her to keep on the move, so she followed her gut and moved on.

Three years later, she finds herself accused of tampering with evidence. She's arrested and fired from her job. Before a trial date can be set, she disappears... without a trace. That is, until months later when Grissom and the rest of his team are given leave time to attend a conference in Acapulco. They soon learn of Sara's past, and how she was set up for a crime she never committed.

Yet, she is unable to return to her home in Las Vegas, instead, working as an agent for hire for the CIA. She leaves them behind in Acapulco for an assignment in Virginia.

She has not been heard from since by those who love her most – their time together has been followed by six months of silence.

* * *

"Keep your hand steady, use your other one to cup it, if necessary. Now, eyeball the target, lead it. To you it'll seem barely an inch, but it'll actually be feet in front it." The girl nodded in understanding. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the movement of her instructor's head, signaling for the release of the skeet. She tensed, ready for it and when she saw it fly through the air, she heard the whispered directions, "Steady now, ready, ready... fire."

A sharp ding rang out.

The cadet smiled victoriously and then exhaled the breath she'd been holding. "That's the first time I've been able to hit the skeet." She offered her hand to her instructor, who in turn, firmly grasped it. "Thank you, Sarsha."

"You're welcome. Just keep practicing. Maybe later, I'll show you how to adjust with wind speed and currents." She shared a wink with the cadet and at the same moment she caught a glimpse of a gray-haired man walking towards them. Shifting back a step, she let the cadet continue on with her practice, keeping an eye trained on her position, her other senses noting the new arrival.

"I remember the time you hit your first moving target," he murmured into her ear.

Sara nodded slightly in remembrance.

"You could do that now with your eyes closed."

She smiled amusedly. "Don't exaggerate."

"I bet if it came down to it, you could."

She shrugged. "Are you here for a specific reason, or just to see me, Sidney?"

"Hmm... maybe a little of both." He smiled affectionately at her. His gaze took in her tightly pulled back hair, twisted into a ponytail that was pulled into the back of her agency-issued baseball cap. She wore very little make-up and yet it did nothing to detract from her stunning looks, maybe going so far as to enhance them. Her black t-shirt and black trousers fit her snugly and was proper for the time and place.

"Have you formed any opinions yet on this round of cadets?" he asked.

"I never form an opinion on anything, as you very well know," she responded dryly. "But if you're wondering if I've decided on any recommendations for which cadets are suitable, then yes, I have."

"Well, then, I'm sure the Director would be interested in your choices. He's been anxious to get this project underway and with the first two steps of this plan finished…"

"Hold that thought, Sidney." Sarsha held up her hand to stop the conversation as she pulled out her cell phone. "Sarsha," she answered.

Although he only heard the conversation through her words, Sarsha's clipped, affirmative answers left Sidney in no doubt as to who was on the other end.

When she hung up the phone, she bowed her head and took a deep breath. "I've been called to headquarters." She lifted her head to meet his concerned gaze.

The haunted look in her eyes was all too familiar to him. Sidney knew it was her choice whether she accepted or declined an assignment. When she did accept one, he felt confident that it was her decision, but he still held a twinge of regret in his heart that she had to be put in the position of being asked in the first place.

He watched her long strides take her to the cadet she'd been personally overseeing. He could only make out a few of her words such as director, assignment and headquarters.

As her contact, Sidney would, under normal circumstances, have been told what the assignment was and be the one to fill her in on the details. But in this instance, he had no clue what was going on.

When those within proximity heard the rhythmic but clipped whirring approaching them, all heads turned to the East to see the chopper descend forty meters from their positions. Sidney watched Sarsha wave to a couple of her new team members and then turned her gaze back on him. She stood silently, her eyes addressing only him. Her silent plea was enough. He would take care of everything – if she didn't return. He nodded and she returned it, and then she ran to the helicopter, barely able to settle in when it began to ascend.

Sidney smoothed down the hairs on the back of his neck as he watched the helicopter slowly disappear until it was just a small fleck on the horizon. He always hated seeing Sarsha departing for an assignment and he hated it even more when his own premonitions warned him that she would not return unscathed.

Meanwhile... miles away, the desert heat rose up from the ground, mingling with the sand that the wind kicked up.

Catherine stood on sore, shaky legs, wiping the beads of sweat off of her brow. She glanced at her surroundings, checking the position of her team mates and deciding the best course of action. With a deft flick of her wrist, her fingers curved to accept the ball as it bounced up to meet her fingers, she picked it up, threw it in the air and served it with a fierceness that sent it flying over the volleyball net.

Nick stepped forward, tripping in his attempt to set up the next play for his partner. He succeeded, but just barely, leaving little room for Warrick to make his move.

Warrick lunged forward and stepped on Nick's foot as he pumped the ball up into the air, while Nick swung his arm to send the ball flying over the net. The power behind his swing sent it out of bounds, effectively handing the winning point to the girls' team.

Catherine and Miranda bounced on sore legs, hugging and chanting at the top of their lungs, "We won! We won!"

On the other side of the net, Nick and Warrick, breathing heavily, hung their heads in defeat, but they were still able to smile at the joyous shouts of the girls. They had to hand it to them, it was a hard game and they'd won it fairly, with a lot of hard work.

Much later that evening, Grissom stood silently in the doorway of the break room, a small smirk crossing his lips as he looked upon his team members. Catherine was curled up on one end of the sofa, asleep with a magazine tipping out of her hands, nearly ready to fall to the floor. Miranda Quinn was sitting on the other end, her legs curled up against the arm and her head tucked into her chest. She looked extremely uncomfortable, Grissom thought, remembering how they'd spent their afternoons.

Warrick and Nick were sitting at the table, one at each end. Their heads were laying flat, sound asleep – and he noted, Nick was drooling. Shift hadn't begun yet, but he'd never seen them begin shift this way. Why were they asleep? And then it occurred to him that just maybe they'd had another debate and settled it with a game, something probably physically draining. He was pleased to see his team doing things together outside of work, but he wasn't happy that it was affecting their work. Attempting to rouse them, he cleared his throat, but it had no effect. Walking heavily into the room, he dropped the file he was carrying onto the table. Seeing them all jump, he smiled. That did the trick.

Groans were emitted from all four when they moved, wincing as if they'd run a hundred mile marathon. They were weary and sore, he was sure the rest of the night would be harsh on them all. He smiled, holding back a chuckle. "Hard day?"

Catherine shot him a glare. "You could say that."

"I hope your extracurricular activities won't impede you tonight. We have another DB... possible link to our other two." He hesitated for effect. "We may have a serial on our hands."

"What do you got?" Grissom asked as he and the rest of his team approached detective Jim Brass.

"Caucasian male, twenty-five to thirty years of age. Shot once, execution style."

"Who found him?"

"Two teens," He pointed to a uniformed officer where two young kids were sitting against a vehicle, "over there with Officer Bowden. They were looking for a... secluded area."

Grissom stared at the boy and girl, understanding flashing in his eyes.

While he remained with the body until David came to take it away, the rest of his team scoured the area and perimeter looking for any remnants of their shootist.

Their other two victims gave them little to go on in the evidence arena. He felt as if this was a losing battle. How many more bodies would there be before they found something to lead them to at least speculate as to who was murdering these men?

An hour later, Catherine and Nick began combing through what little they'd gathered. Most of what they'd found were items that could be from anyone and any event. There was nothing concrete to tie to the victim, who also remained a John Doe, like the others.

"Catherine, what is this?" Nick asked as held up a piece of shiny material between the tongs of his tweezers.

Catherine bent closer, peering at the indiscriminate material. "Uh, could be from clothing, could also be from some type of decoration. Send it to Trace, but don't count on anything probative." She turned, heading toward the door, but called back to him, "I'm going for coffee, want anything?"

"Yeah, make mine black."

Catherine nodded to Jacqui as she passed by, heading over to the break room. She found Grissom sitting at the table, comparing files of the last two victims. "Find anything? I know I didn't."

"No, not a thing. It's as if there was no one there, no footprints, no fingerprints, no fibers, no... nothing." Exasperated, he dropped the file down on the table and leaned back in his chair, tiredly wiping at his face and eyes.

"Nick found some sort of material, shiny, but just a small scrap, barely even an inch," Catherine offered as she poured her two cups of coffee.

Grissom looked up and stared blankly at her, almost as if she wasn't there.

"What?"

Grissom blinked. "I'm thinking that before we find another dead body, we should call someone in."

"Feds?" she asked incredulously.

Grissom nodded as he stared at the files. He picked one up. Stared at the picture of the dead man and then placed it back on the table. "We're getting nowhere fast. I think we should."

"That's a big concession, coming from you. What brought about this change? Or does it have to do with Sara?"

At the mention of her name, Grissom grimaced. "No. Yes. I guess it does. What was it Matt said about her? That if she had committed the crime, we'd never know it, never find any clues."

Catherine sat down at the table, across from him, studying him. "You think this may be a..." she glanced around before whispering, "Pretender?"

Not answering at first, the lines along his brows and under his eyes deepened in concentration. Then he said, "I don't think it's a Pretender, per se. But someone, certainly, who knows what they need to hide." Decisively, he stood, "I'm calling this in." And with that he was gone.

A stiff breeze rolled over the valley, whipping her hair into a frenzy and drying her tears as they flowed down her cheeks. She held fiercely to the arm of her companion, her arm tucked securely into his. Her pale alabaster skin stood out in dark contrast to the simple black suit she wore. There was someone speaking but the words were indistinguishable, as she couldn't focus on anything other than the images of a fallen comrade. _How many times have I told them not to become distracted? Let nothing interfere with your goal._ Angrily, she swiped at her tears with her free hand. Work had consumed her the last two weeks and it had been enough of an excuse for her to not have to face these feelings. Now, there was nothing to hide behind, nothing to keep her thoughts away from the cost of her mistake.

The first volley of the twenty-one-gun salute shook her out of her reverie, but she held her gaze on the flag enshrouded coffin. Only after the last volley reverberated over the hills in the cemetery did she lift her gaze and meet the eyes of those standing near her.

Her companion whispered gently, "I'll take you home."

Her legs felt as if they were made of jelly and she would have stumbled if not for his solid hold on her. After helping her into the passenger seat, she watched him walk around to the driver's side.

Sara sat numbly while Greg drove through the streets of Washington, D.C. – her gaze fixed firmly forward. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him glance toward her, tilting his head in consideration for the merest second, possibly thinking of the right words to say to console her. But there were none to be said. She couldn't be consoled, not yet.

_Silence is golden_. That's what she'd been told before. Many times she'd believed that, but this wasn't one of them. She closed the door behind her, hanging her trench coat on the doorknob of the closet instead of taking the time to hang it up. Then kicking off her shoes and heading straight toward the stereo, she turned it to a Classic Rock station.

She was thankfully alone tonight. Joshua had gone to Delaware, to visit Miss Parker for the weekend. That's two days and three nights alone with herself. She could have gone to headquarters and spent the night pouring over reports and files that needed her attention, but if she'd shown up there, Carl or even Director Gage would have sent her home at first sight. And she had no desire to go back to the farm to work with her trainees.

If anyone could see her now, they'd see on her face that she held herself responsible for the death of Matt Calhoun. Death wasn't something unusual to her. She'd been surrounded by it for years, almost her whole life. And yet this one was different. This was a friend. A man who knew how to comfort her, joke with her, keep her on an even keel and would have done anything to protect her. She failed him. It was her job to get in and get him out. She'd had no trouble getting in. There was no problem there. The problem was that she got distracted by a noise, consequently choosing the wrong route and causing her to veer off in the wrong direction, away from her goal. That decision had cost him his life.

Never having liked the effects of alcohol, she never kept it around. Now she wished she had something handy. Anything, beer, whiskey, vodka or even tequila –but instead, she pulled out the pitcher of water from the fridge and poured a glass. The cold liquid cascaded down her throat, quenching her thirst, but not her pain. Tears stung her eyes once again and she clambered for the sofa. Sinking into the cushions, she cried herself into a blissful sleep of sunshine, warm sand, music wafting on the air and the bright smile of Matt Calhoun.

"Ouch!" Sara woke with a thud and a bang as she fell off the sofa, hitting the coffee table with her leg and causing an empty glass to topple over. The phone was ringing and she'd barely heard it as it was stuffed underneath her pillow. Raising herself up while retrieving the phone, she tapped the talk button and said somewhat groggily, "Sidle."

"Sara?"

She'd begun to stand, but sat back down at hearing the low voice. She ran a hand through her hair and leaned back into the soft cushions of the sofa. "Hi, Jarod."

"I'm sorry, Sara." he consoled. "Matt was a good man... and friend." Jarod had been the one to introduce them and when she'd learned that he trusted Matt, she did too.

Sara was about to reply when she glanced towards the chair in the far corner. Greg was laying all the way back with the throw over him and his mouth open in sleep. Smiling wide at the protectiveness of her friend, she returned to her conversation. "I, umm, yeah, it's been a little rough. Thank you for calling, I appreciate it."

"It's not your fault, baby girl."

She cringed at the endearment. Only he and Matt ever called her that. "Jarod... " she sighed. "Never mind, I don't want to discuss it anymore."

"For now," Jarod conceded, then continued, "heard you've been having some success there with the new recruits."

She got up from the sofa and went into the kitchen to make coffee for her and Greg as she listened. "They're a good group of kids. And I mean that literally, no one is over twenty-five and they have way too much energy."

Jarod's chuckle made her smile, something she hadn't done for weeks. "At least they'll keep you on your toes."

"That, and more," she grimaced. "Tell me, what's been keeping you so busy that you haven't called sooner?"

"Oh, just been doing a bit of record retrieval. I'm actually in Delaware. Found some interesting stuff and still rifling through it, trying to put it in some kind of order."

"Interesting stuff? Is there anything pertaining to me? Is that why you called?" She paused with the canister of coffee in her hand as she waited for his reply.

"No… I didn't call except in reference to Matt. This stuff is more about after we escaped. I haven't seen any mention of you in it."

Her fingers nimbly removed the lid then grabbed a measuring spoon. "Well, I guess that's good. Doesn't seem they were too worried about my disappearance. Don't you find that kind of strange?" The phone nearly fell off her shoulder and she grabbed it before it fell, repositioning it again on her shoulder.

"I've thought about it, but not too deeply. There were so many things that I was unaware of that they had me involved in, because of that they probably thought I was more of a concern."

"Undoubtedly. Say, I've been assigned to Vegas, indefinitely. I'll let you know when I move and how to get a hold of me." Flipping on the coffee maker as she veered toward the bedroom, she glanced back in at Greg who had now moved in the chair and was nearly on his side.

"Good, I'm glad you're going back. I think Grissom will be glad too."

"Let's not go there," she scoffed. "I have enough to contend with that I don't even want to consider that portion of my life right now."

"Sara, Matt chose his work." His voice was low, direct and yet consoling. "He knew the dangers, just like you and me. We didn't exactly have a choice, but he did. You aren't to blame for what happened."

"No, Jarod. I am fully to blame. I was distracted. I should've been there. It won't happen again; I'll make sure of that."

Jarod sighed. She knew what was coming. "We've talked about this, Sara. You can't be closing yourself off. Or you will turn into exactly what Mr. Raines wants… a cold-blooded killer."

"What do you call what I am now, Jarod? That's exactly what I've done and still do." Her voice had gained a couple of octaves and she could hear Jarod wince on the other end.

"Sara, if you were so cold-blooded about it, we wouldn't be having this conversation. You do as you're ordered…"

"No, I do as I want, Jarod. When Matt died, they told me to abort… I didn't. I went after that man with nothing but rage in me and I made certain that he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone ever again."

"Still, you are, for lack of a better word, a soldier. You don't kill at your leisure or do so without reason. You work for the government and when they tell you to jump, you do so. That part of your programming or whatever you want to call it isn't something we can just erase with a word. You are who you are. But it's your choice what you do with the other portion of your life. You can still have the love you so very much deserve, Sara. If anyone deserves to be loved, it's you." Jarod's voice caught and she could hear the sorrow in it, but it lacked any hint of pity.

She didn't know how to respond. She thought she could and was about to do so when she heard, "Sara?" Spinning around, she saw Greg come from the living room looking for her. When he caught sight of her, his eyes grew to twice their size. She looked down to where his eyes were focused and that's when she realized she was only dressed in her bra and panties. He made an abrupt about face and walked back into the living room. She couldn't help but chuckle at his discomfiture. Being seen in so few clothes was not a problem for her, but for Greg it was a different matter.

"What're you laughing at?" Jarod asked.

"Umm, well, Greg is here and he… well, he got an eyeful."

"Oh… a blushing red?"

"Umm, you could say that. He retreated really fast. I should go. I have to go check on him, make sure he's still breathing, and I need to get into work, to speak with the Director about my return to Vegas. They have something there they want me to look into. Not up-to-date yet on what it's about."

"Call me later if you can. I don't want this conversation left at this point."

"Jarod!"

"No… we will talk about this again."

Sara sighed. Jarod wasn't someone she could easily say no to and he wasn't someone she liked to disappoint. "Fine, I'll call you tonight maybe, but probably tomorrow."

"Tell Greg and Jackson hello. Bye, baby girl."

"Stop calling me that," she ground out between clenched teeth as he chuckled. She tapped the phone off then finished dressing and went out to the living room in search of her mightily embarrassed friend. She spied him looking out the window on the city. "Hey, you." He turned toward her and she couldn't help but give him a smirk.

"You're not going to let me live this down, are you?" His face was still red, but he had a huge smile.

"Nope, not one bit. So, how'd you get in? And why did you come here?" she asked, turning to head to the kitchen for their coffee.

Greg followed her as he explained, "I thought you might like some company. I was a little surprised to find you asleep. What did you drink?"

Sara smiled. "I didn't, but you already know that. You would've smelled the glass I had on the coffee table to check."

He nodded, letting her know she was correct. "The CIA may have trained me, but I think I've learned more in the last two months with you than the six months with them."

"Well, Greg, I have to say, it's been a great pleasure teaching you and working with you." She handed him his coffee then reached up and touched his cheek. "You're really good you know. You've become quite the formidable opponent. I'd never feel as though I had an inadequate team if you were beside me on an operation." Pulling her hand away, she took a sip of her coffee and sat at the table off of her kitchen. Greg took a seat and seemed to study her. "What?"

"I don't know. You're definitely not over this, are you? You're going to let this hang over your head for some time. And I think those next to you are going to pay for that."

Sara dipped her head. She didn't think she was that readable. _Just goes to show how much work I have to do._ "Greg, don't. I just got off the phone with Jarod on this subject. I don't need to hear it any more today."

He nodded then reached out to hold her hand. "Sara, I just want you to know, I'm here if you need me. That will never change."

She put her hand over his, gently stroking the top of it. "I know, Greg. I appreciate what you're telling me. Thank you."

"Did I hear correctly, you're being reassigned to Vegas?"

Nodding as she sipped her coffee, she said, "Yeah, but haven't been told in what capacity yet though. I'm guessing I'll be leaving soon." She took another drink of her coffee then walked away from the table, throwing back over her shoulder, "We should get going. It's going to be a busy day.


	2. Reflections

Bright fluorescent bulbs in the hallway and the small lamp on top of his desk reflected twinkling flecks of light off the glass that littered the room – from the glass jars to the glass-framed certificates. The coziness that the little illumination afforded was only marred by the contents of the glass jars. But that was Grissom, his type of decor fitting his science mind to a 'T'.

In three hours, he'd be in the air on his way to a conference across the country. In an attempt to prepare the way for his temporary replacement, namely, Catherine Willows, he adjusted the tall pile of folders that had once littered his floor, so that now they sat in a precariously tall tower between his feet. He had already eliminated a good number of case files, leaving only these. Other than case assignments and processing scenes, she'd only have to deal with these files that didn't require a lot of attention – he'd taken care of those. Even after all that work, he still couldn't shake the feeling that he'd forgotten something and that it would aggravate his friend to no end.

As he glanced around his chair at the floor to see if any files had been forgotten, a shadow skimmed over his desk. It moved further onto him and then darkened the room as it blocked the little light straining in from the hallway. He looked up to see a body standing in the doorway, a feminine body.

She flippantly tossed her hair back and sighed heavily with annoyance.

"Catherine," he acknowledged. _Oh, shit!_ Now he remembered what he'd forgotten.

"Grissom," her voice filled with annoyance, "were you by chance going to tell me that you were leaving?"

"I was waiting for you to get here so I could," he drawled, covering his ass.

"You've known about this conference for months. Did it not occur to you to tell me any sooner?"

Grissom grabbed several of the top most files and stood to place them on his desk. "I finished most of the more urgent paperwork. If you get a chance to look at any of these, I'd appreciate it. If not..." he trailed off, feigning disinterest.

Catherine shifted, her interest piqued. "Where is this conference?"

Grissom placed the last of the files on the desk, avoiding looking at her until, hesitating as long as he could he answered. When he saw her expression, he said, "D.C."

"Oh."

Predictable as always in her assumptions, he tried to adjust her thinking by responding quickly, "No, I'm not meeting up with her." Walking around his desk, he slumped into his chair tiredly. "I haven't heard from Sara since Acapulco. I don't know that she'll even be in the vicinity."

"Have you checked?" she asked, slithering into the nearest chair.

"No." He ran a hand over his face, exhausted from not only a double shift, but also the added pressure of completing the paperwork on time. He continued in a hushed voice, "We left things on uncertain terms."

It would be plain to anyone within the state of Nevada that there was something weighing on the man. And Catherine was never oblivious to her friend's well-concealed emotions. The conference actually might be good for him she thought. He'd been working endless hours since Acapulco and was feeling the loss now more keenly than before. _Well, what are friends for?_ "Why don't you lie down on the couch and catch a few winks before your flight?"

Grissom shook his head then looked toward the open door expectantly. "I'm just waiting for the cab to arrive. My flight leaves in just under three hours. I'll need to check in."

"Hey, there's no telling when it'll get here. I'll wake you when you get the call."

He knew from her determined tone that she wouldn't accept no as an answer so he followed her pointing finger over to the sofa and lay down.

While he snoozed, Catherine started on the first file. She glanced up at him periodically, feeling very maternal of her best friend. It wasn't long, however, until the phone rang. She answered it as he sat up. "Thanks, Judy. He'll be out there in a minute."

---------------------------

The following night, colleague and close friend Dr. Charles Donovan, invited Grissom to dinner at a restaurant on the Hill. The location, so near to where he would've expected Sara to spend her spare time, kept thoughts of her well in mind. He'd enjoyed the small talk with his friend and the restaurant's dim lights and quiet ambience fit his mood.

When their conversation dwindled into a companionable silence, Charles excused himself, explaining that he had to be at the conference early due to some set-up issues for the slide show to be presented earlier in the morning. He asked if Grissom wanted to share a cab back to the hotel, but Grissom declined. He'd given his presentation already that day and strangely, the conference held no interest for him. Instead, he decided to stay and enjoy another glass of cognac... maybe something stronger.

He sat at the bar, staring through the mirror on the back wall, watching people coming and going. He took a small sip of his cognac, enjoying the smooth feel of the liquid flowing down his throat. Observing the clientele, he noted their business suits, their etched faces of worry and stress. Politicians were what he surmised many of these people were – their business, that of running a country. He hated politics. It threw a wrench into his work and nearly destroyed his team, causing a well-oiled working machine to come to a grinding halt.

The doors opened behind him again, letting in a cool draft. He motioned for the bartender to poor another glass and glimpsed a set of long, muscular calves. His eyes traveled upward to the hem of her mini-skirt and then the long jacket that ended an inch or two above the edge of the skirt. His view was suddenly cut-off by someone stepping in front of the woman. The bartender placed his drink on a new napkin and slid it in front of him. When he took a sip again, his eyes glanced up into the mirror over the rim of the glass and he froze.

The couple was directed to a table in a small alcove off the main dining area. The alcove was lit by one candle in the middle of the table, the only chairs were the two seated on opposite sides. The maitre d' helped Sara with her seat while the other gentleman waited until she was seated before he took his.

Grissom realized he was holding his breath . . . in disbelief. Seeing her affected him in ways he never thought it could. Her hair was in its natural state, soft waves framing her face and his fingers remembered their silky softness. God, what he wouldn't do to be able to hold her in his arms. She tucked a lock of her curls behind her ear and he watched with fascination as she licked her lips to moisten them. However, her face was tense and it worried him to see her in such a state. Seeing the scene from anyone else's point of view, he'd think the couple was on a date, but the stern and uncomfortable look on Sara's face implied this was a business meeting and not one that she wanted to be in.

The maitre d' left and very quickly the setting became clear; they hunched forward over the table and in lowered voices began what appeared to be an intense discussion. Something told Grissom they were revisiting a previous discussion, and Sara seemed to be running the show.

What he wouldn't give to speak to her. It felt like it had been forever and he longed to touch her. But as much as he wanted to, she was working and he didn't want to divert her attention.

Grissom found himself at a crossroads. He could either wait until they were finished, or he could walk away. Rain pelted the expansive windows, and people caught out in it were running for cover. The cars sped by and splashed water up onto the curbs, their bright lights reflecting off it. Glancing back, he watched her lean back in her chair defiantly. His choice was made for him. Picking up his glass, he swallowed the last of his drink, a slight grimace marring his handsome face. He moved swiftly to the door and ran through the rain to the curb, hailing an oncoming cab. It pulled to a stop in front of him and he jumped in, but as he gave the driver the address he couldn't resist a last glance back into the restaurant. Walking away, not knowing if he'd see her again was probably the stupidest thing he'd ever done.

The rain hadn't helped his melancholy mood any, rather, he felt cold and alone. Now, as he stood under the spray of his hotel room's shower, steaming rivulets of water cascaded over his back and he shuddered under the pulsating stream, creating ripples across his muscular torso. Grissom tossed his head back to let the spray hit his face and rinse away the tension.

The man she'd arrived with looked as though he'd held a trophy within his grip as they had walked together to the small alcove. He was older, older than himself even and was completely bald, something that contrasted with Grissom's full head of curls. He remembered back to the last time he'd shared a night with Sara and how she curled her fingers within them.

She'd been so near, standing directly behind him at the bar – he could almost have reached out and grabbed her. Grissom, his hands in fists, pressed them against the tiles of the shower, and leaned forward again to let the water flow over his back.

The man had appeared to be a person in power, his attire in a dark business suit belied that it was anything but a business dinner. It was that one thought that kept Grissom's control reigned in. If he'd surmised anything else, there's no telling what he'd be doing now.

Grissom's thoughts about her new, or rather, old occupation, were abruptly revived. Her _business_ not only affected her, but also played havoc on him and the others that made up their former team. Sara's choice was based on extenuating circumstances and yet, she acted as if it hadn't been a choice.

Catherine had seemed bewildered by his apparent lack of interest in trying to reach Sara, knowing she'd be somewhere in that locale. Weeks ago, he'd come to the conclusion that he didn't like Sara's choice. Not only did it go against every fiber of his beliefs, morals, ethics, whatever you wanted to name it, but it was also something she'd always hated. And yet, here she was doing exactly that. Grissom didn't think he could manage to deal with it. But how was he supposed to accept her when he couldn't accept what she was?

He could honestly say he loved her. That was easy, because true love isn't blind. It's aware of the other person's faults. His problem wasn't that he loved her despite those flaws, but that he couldn't imagine living with them, wondering, when she would next use her _abilities_ to take another life.

His heart ached and all these thoughts tangled within his mind. The chaos was unbearable. Grissom clenched his eyes shut, desperately attempting to keep some control, but failing miserably as his anguished tears flowed indistinguishable from the running water.

Minutes passed by and he realized that instead of the warm steady stream, he was now standing in a flow of cold water. A shiver shook his body and instinctively he turned off the water. Stepping out, he grabbed a towel and as he tousled his hair, he began to wonder what it would take to put things right. Would there be a chance of teasing her away and back into the real world? He scoffed at the picture his words conveyed. How real was the world they'd been living in? The bright neon lights and the perverted lives of those who chose to live in the modern day Sodom and Gomorrah. How different was it really from hers? What incentive could he possibly give her to want to return to such a place or even to him?

As he was wrapping the towel around his waist, he looked into the steam covered mirror and even through the fog he could see what he feared, age. He was an old man. He swiped at the precipitation on the mirror, giving clarity to his view. His eyes narrowed in scrutiny as he stepped closer, each line on his face deepening as he neared. Time could be a cruel enemy.

-------------------------

"Mr. Quinn, I was assigned to oversee this project with the understanding that I would have complete autonomy. If that is not the case, then you can certainly find the President a new director," Sarsha stated with unconcealed malice. She viewed him with the same disdain that she held for Mr. Raines. In her mind they resembled beasts, trampling anything that was in their way.

Mr. Quinn's voice, syrupy and smooth, evoked distaste in her when he said, "Sarsha, I believe we have the same goal, that of protecting this country to the extent of giving our lives in doing so."

Too sweet, she thought. "Mr. Quinn, let me make myself perfectly clear. I do not work for you, against you, with you or around you, and you do not dictate to me. If you have any ability to understand, then understand this… if you attempt to interfere with my work or that of any member of my team, at any time, it will be your last mistake. Is that clear enough for you?"

Mr. Quinn eyed her as if she were some new information to be analyzed and deciphered, very like Mr. Raines. He again tried to say something, but she rose slowly from her chair and indicated that she was not above having him removed, forcefully, if he did not leave.

With wine glass in hand, he stood and took a long measured drink of the dark red liquid. He placed the empty glass back on the table, and faced her as if in a stand off. "It was a pleasure, Sarsha. I'm sure another opportunity will arise for us to discuss this situation in more depth. Hopefully, at our next meeting, you won't feel the need to threaten me."

Sarsha smiled tightly and stated firmly, "Mr. Quinn, I don't need to make idle _threats_... I always fulfill my _promises_."


	3. Losing Focus

A/N: I apologize for the delay in publishing new chapters of this story. I was having some real issues with CSI, real life and my muse. You might need to reread the previous 2 chapters to get a feel for this again. I have several chapters done now and will be posting 1 every week as I continue to write. I hope you enjoy this enough to let me know. Thanks to everyone who has continued to tell me how much they like this story and wanted me to continue it.

* * *

_Ahand on her shoulder, sharp fingernails biting into the flesh, guided her down the windowless, narrow hallway. Her younger self was reminded of how her first lesson at The Centre had been a difficult one. In the basement, the cold, gray walls of cement provide a sound proof barrier. No one would be able to see, hear or run to her rescue if she cried out – when she cried for help._

_They approached a door; her guide opened it, revealing the man she'd come to know as Mr. Raines. He stood there, bigger than life, his back ramrod straight, and an unfriendly twist to his mouth. Survival instinct took over and her eyes darted swiftly from him to the far wall straight ahead, to the wall on the right and then to the left, taking in all within her line of sight, because she knew that it was expected of her. He motioned for her, directing her with curt words, "Come closer."_

_She didn't move, too frightened to acknowledge his voice, but continued to search the room, the fake fireplace on the one wall, the desk at the far end of the room, books lining the bookcases that filled the remainder of the walls, more books than she'd ever seen in her short life. A chair placed in front of the fireplace, a small table to its side with a bottle of liquid and a glass half full. A rug lay between the chair and fireplace on the floor and a set of fireplace hardware – a poker, shovel and broom – stood to the side. Her mind raced with the possibilities present within the room, unable to ward off the fright and concentrate on what she knew wasn't going to be a night of recreation. There was one item in this room chosen already to punish her, to haunt her dreams when she would finally be allowed to sleep._

_Mr. Raines' called her back to attention, his grating, nasal voice sending a shiver through her. "I will not repeat myself again. Come closer."_

_Her feet, already too large for her age, made her stumble as she moved forward. She almost fell –apprehension hindering her steps._

_Mr. Raines grimaced at her clumsiness. "Look at me, and only me."_

_She straightened her shoulders and looked directly into his face. Having done this before, she wouldn't let her eyes fall away from his and waited for his instructions._

_"Now, tell me, what did you see in this room?"_

_As she began to rattle off the items, she recalled in more detail the colors, the extra little items and where they were placed. She finished it off with the glass of water on the table. Feeling very good about herself, she let a small smile of triumph escape._

_But her victory was short-lived._

_The sour look on Mr. Raines' face told her that her earlier fears were not unfounded. Her fear tempted her to look at the room again, to search for what she'd missed, and what would ultimately cause her pain. But she held very still, her eyes never wavering from his and waited quietly for him to point out her indiscretion._

_"You did well. You have improved your observation skills, but your training is severely lacking. I have told you before that a room consists of more than four walls, that every single item in the room counts and could potentially hold a defensive or an offensive weapon or escape. You failed to note a very integral portion of this room."_

_She waited, and waited until his eyes drifted upward. Hers did as well and it was then that she saw the light fixture and the two support beams. Her throat constricted and she swallowed in response to the tightness._

_Looking back at Mr. Raines, her heart sank. He'd moved closer to the fireplace while she was looking up at the ceiling. His hand now fingered the fireplace poker, slowly lifting it from its stand. And she now knew what object of fear the room held for her._

_Later, her attendant never said anything as she wrapped her broken limbs and cleaned her wounds. And there were no hugs of comfort. Why would there be? It was routine._

Times like this, when she was in the public eye and even more so when she was near a potential adversary, Sarsha was reminded of the consequences of losing focus for just a moment. Having endured an evening in the company of Mr. Quinn – even if he had been different in so many ways – had kept her on alert. Knowing how to control her emotions and her body and verbal language, making her unreadable, were more valuable than any other training she'd received in her seventeen years at The Centre.

Had she not been in the bar with Mr. Quinn, she would've allowed the small measure of leniency in her defenses to sit with the familiar man at the bar and share a drink with him – maybe more.

It hadn't been that much of a surprise to see him there, having known his destination from the moment he'd left Las Vegas and when his plane had touched down here, in Washington D.C. Jackson had dispersed the information her way, nearly on a daily basis – just small snippets of info, keeping her apprised of Grissom's location. And occasionally he'd give her a full debriefing on some of the more interesting case files, even going so far as to provide the street address where Grissom had been the night before. And although she hadn't asked for the favor, she appreciated the quiet courtesy. It didn't take much work for the CIA, much less someone of Jackson Haisley's intelligence to track someone.

There had been plenty of opportunities to let Grissom understand how vested she'd become in his whereabouts. At the airport when she'd stood quietly and unobtrusively on the sidelines, watching as he walked through the gate, to his pick up his luggage and even as he grabbed his cab. When he'd stood at the podium earlier in the day, she'd smiled nostalgically, remembering how easily engrossed she'd been with one of his lectures.

Now, the sidelines were thinning out and becoming bare. It was time to get involved, take some action. She could use a little distraction for a day or two; she'd earned it after the last couple of months. Leaving the next day for Las Vegas would provide her the distraction she needed. And really if Sarsha was honest with herself, she didn't just want to be near the man. No – she needed to. He really was the only thing she needed, and God help her, and him, if anyone ever understood just how much.

Stepping out onto the wet street, rain still drizzling in the darkness of the night, she walked purposefully around the corner and with remote in hand, flicked off the locks on her car. The lights from the security system illuminated the interior, inviting her in with its warm glow.

As she pulled away from the curb, a lone figure stepped out from the alcove and tossed a cigarette into the street. Red embers rose from the pavement as she watched her drive away.

THE window had been left open. It was just a few inches, but enough to cool the room so that he slept soundly and dreamed sweet dreams of reminiscence. But it wasn't long and the echo of an ambulance's siren blared incessantly on the street below and shattered his peace.

Wanting to close the window but not wishing to move from the comfort of the queen-sized bed, Grissom assessed the situation through half-closed lids. Squinting at the slowly descending droplets on the windowpane and the shuttering of the lightning in the clouds beyond, he drowsily glimpsed the time. Grimacing at the early hour, he rolled over onto his other side, giving his pillow a good punch before settling his head back upon it. The light bedspread had already been pushed to the end of the bed, nearly dropping from the edge and now the sheet threatened to leave him nearly uncovered having fallen to just below his waistline. He was comfortable once again and started to dose off when the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

Something was out of place.

A soft squeak of loosened wood alerted him to another's presence in the room. He sat up as a bolt of lightning brightened the room, its thunderous boom instantly reverberating between its four walls.

And that's when he saw her.

The only light in the room came from the lightning outside and through it he saw her smile. She rose then, moving toward him like an apparition floating on the air. As she drew near, her hands snuck around behind her back, and Grissom had a heart stopping moment when he thought he was still dreaming and it was soon to turn into a nightmare – until her skirt fell to the floor, pooling at her feet, revealing silk stockings and something he hadn't seen on a woman in many years – garters. And beneath the garter belt, he could just make out red panties.

Words were lost to him. This was better than any of his many fantasies. He stole a glance at her face and couldn't control the slow burn of desire that crept up his torso. Her fingers were now slowly, torturously removing each of the buttons on her blouse, revealing inch by lovely inch of fair, smooth skin. It finally began a slow descent off her shoulders and down her long, firm arms. She tossed it aside as she placed one knee on the bed beside him.

Since he was still sitting he had to look up into her smoldering gaze and when she placed a light touch on his shoulder he thought he'd come unglued. She leaned over him; her breasts, barely revealed through the lacy bra that covered them, were mere inches from his face. He'd only have to move slightly to taste them. But her hand, moving up his throat and cupping his head, was playing havoc with his senses, and he found his body no longer under his control.

"I've missed you," she whispered. It was a deep, throaty sound that was soon followed by a soft, wet kiss behind his ear, sending cascading shivers of anticipation down his body. And he was glad, glad to have gotten a few short of hours of sleep at least.


	4. Enemy Mine

A/N: I goofed. Big time. I did not acknowledge my very understanding and patient beta in the last chapter. She took this position on when no one else wanted to and I am terribly grateful to her. Coolbyrne, thank you so much for attention to details and even going so far as to read the previous story to make sure you understood this story. You'll never know how much I appreciate your help. Thank you!

* * *

Grissom woke slightly sore and yet somewhat refreshed. He stretched, tried to hold in a yawn and then let his arm fall on the bed. The slick feel of long, silky hair surprised him and he looked over at the slender, sleeping brunette that lay next to him. A grin lingered on his lips, the scent of their lovemaking tugged at the memory from the wee hours of the morning.

She looked adorable, laid out on her stomach, one arm tucked beneath the pillow that had at one time cradled her head but now seemed to protect it. Her other arm lay in front of her, hand before her face. One shoulder peaked out from beneath the covers, tempting him. Smoothing the covers down the length of her arm, his fingers left a shadow of warmth and traipsed amorously to her stomach. Before he could go any further his hand was snatched back by her strong grip.

Turning over to face him, her body sliding smoothly against the sheets, she purred, "You don't play fair." Sleepy eyes greeted him and her hair was completely tousled; it left Grissom with an insuppressible ache somewhere deep in his heart.

His smile beguiling and playful, beckoned her to pull herself up to meet his bare chest with her own. Her lips pressed to his and her hand rounded his neck, pulling him down to her.

They languished the morning away, between lovemaking and room service, talking of days spent apart and the immediate days ahead. Shortly after noon they showered, and then dressed for sightseeing. According to Sara, there were many places she was sure Grissom hadn't seen and would certainly raise his interest.

It was while eating a late lunch that Sara's pager went off. Checking it, a soft expletive left her lips as she read–"mtg.dtr.0400."

Popping a chip in his mouth and now wiping the grease from his hands, Grissom barely heard what she'd said. He asked, "Something wrong?"

"Yeah." Unforthcoming with more information, she stood and grabbed her jacket, slipping it over her light blouse. "Come on, there's one place I wanted to show you that suddenly moved to the top of the list."

Taking her car, they drove north for a good long while before Grissom realized they were leaving Washington behind. "Where are we headed?"

Sara couldn't help the grin appearing on her face, which was soon followed with a mischievous wink. "Somewhere I doubt you've ever been."

"Hmph. I've been to a lot of places in my time."

"Ooh, the age reference rears its ugly head once again. Well, let me counter with the fact that I've probably been to more places in my somewhat shorter life-time than you have in yours."

A year ago, he'd have challenged her on the facts, but today? No, this Sara knew more about life than he'd ever want to.

Forty-five minutes later, and she was proved right. The Pentagon wasn't somewhere he'd been before. As they drove up to a secured gate, he caught Sara's eyes studying his reaction. He tried to appear as nonchalant about the experience as possible, but the little boy in him was in awe. There had been a time when he'd wanted to work at Quantico. He'd been passed over for a rival entomologist who'd already had experience working with the team that was in place at the time. When he retired, Grissom was offered his position, but then Sara came along, and he found he didn't want to leave.

A security guard eyed him carefully, looked at his identification and then waved a wand over him. When cleared, Sara grabbed his arm and tugged him forward. They walked with purpose through the foyer and then down a long hallway into a room with several people either stooped over items on layout tables or sitting in front of computer terminals, all very studious in their activities; that was except for two. If he hadn't already been used to this kind of friendly character bashing from his experiences with Nick, Greg and Warrick, he'd think they were arguing ­–loudly.

"Hey, Terri, find anything on those photos?" Sara interrupted them. Even though she was sitting, Grissom could tell Terri was about five feet nine inches, and about one hundred ten pounds. Her arms told him she was strong, probably worked out regularly.

Terri swiveled around in her chair, taking a long look at Sara and Grissom. Tossing her head in Grissom's direction, her question was obvious in its silence.

"He's clear."

Turning back to the table, Terri waved a hand toward the pictures, indicating Sara should have a look, which she did. While Sara looked at the photos, straightening suddenly as if burned, Grissom continued to watch Terri watching Sara.

Terri then asked, "Look familiar, Sarsha?"

He came up behind her and looked at the photos, at the same time realizing that she'd called Sara Sarsha. He glanced at Sara to see if there would be a reaction to it, but there was none. Then he scanned the photos again; at first he couldn't tell what he was looking at and then there it was.

"Damn," Sara cussed under her breath. Her face screwed up in imaginary pain. Remembrance maybe?

From what he could make out, the photos were all taken from one subject, female. She'd been obviously tortured, burned in some cases. Skin was missing in chunks and from the amount of oozing of fluids displayed just within the image he would guess she'd been skinned while still alive.

With his limited knowledge of Sara, unclothed, he'd never seen or felt any evidence of such a thing being done to her, but also knowing her past experiences, he didn't doubt she understood the excruciating pain involved.

His eye caught something familiar in one photograph. A hand on the floor next to the body was of another person, and from the angle, it was of a live person. Immediately he knew that the ring belonged to Catherine Willows. This body was a case from Las Vegas. He looked up and knew from one glance at her face that Sara had already known it.

"These came in late yesterday, before I saw you at the bar."

"If this is in Las Vegas, how'd you get them?"

Sara shrugged. "That's what we do."

"Why?"

"You asked for help. Under the circumstances, they've ordered me to Las Vegas."

"Again, why?"

Sara's looked away from his searching eyes and back at the photos. "Because this and the others before are not random. Like you thought, they're serials."

Grabbing her arm and swinging her around to face him, he asked, "And that's for the FBI, isn't it?" His manner of handling Sara drew the attention of the others in the lab area, including Terri.

"Yes. Usually."

"You know who's doing this?"

She bit her bottom lip and then gently nodded her head.

"Who?"

"I don't know the person, but I know the signature. They're either a renegade from the Centre, or at the very least, someone from the Triumvirate who has been trained to imitate one of us. I wouldn't go so far as to say they're a Pretender, though."

Terri asked, "Why not?"

"We're all grouped into one label, but can be far apart in the full spectrum. I'm not actually a Pretender. I'm an assassin with training in _pretending_ as well. This person might be the same as me, possibly someone with a more deviant style of training. My specific training was straightforward, nothing extravagant and certainly not near what some others went through."

Grissom could feel the knot in his throat slowly descend to his stomach. If Sara was a minor player in the assassination game, then he was now truly scared at the possibilities, because this possibility had just landed itself in his home turf.


	5. Tangible Connections

A/N: Thanks again to Coolbyrne for the fine editing job. I did do some changes afterward, so if you see something odd, it's all mine. For those few who have reviewed, thank you. I can't say enough how much your comments mean to me. I can't know if I'm doing a good job if I don't hear from you, so please leave me a line even if it's just to say, "Good job."or "Try harder."

* * *

Sweltering dry heat from the midday desert sun greeted them as they stepped off their plane. Two cars awaited their arrival, before Grissom knew what was happening Sara was led to one while he was kept from following by being guided towards the other. She was able to turn back, wink and mouth to him that she'd be in touch. For some reason, he knew it wouldn't be long. This formality of separating her to conduct her business, however, was unnerving. But, it was business not personal and he'd had an inclination that something like this would happen. He had hoped he'd be able to see where she'd be staying. Instead, he was reminded it was time for him to return to his work and she would see him again, at the lab.

He was dropped off at his townhouse where he took a quick shower, grabbed a small salad and headed into work. When he walked into the Las Vegas Crime lab, he could feel the heavy undercurrent sizzling with tension and there was an unmistakable sense of urgency in the air. At first glance, everything seemed normal. But looking again, the postures and faces he glimpsed were fraught with anxiety.

He spied Nick walking down the hallway toward the trace lab totally consumed with a small stack of files in his arms, but his attention was drawn back to the front desk. Judy, the receptionist, was quietly telling a dayshift lab tech – Tristan or Trista, he couldn't remember, that, "They said it had been filled in several years ago, but it looked like they re-dug the hole."

He turned back to ask what she was referencing when Nick came up and said he needed to talk to him, privately. Once reaching his office, the younger CSI shut the door behind them and remembering to greet him, said, "I'm glad you're back. We didn't expect you until Friday."

"Something came up." Taking his seat, Grissom asked, "What's happening?"

Nick took a seat across from his desk and with a heavy sigh he asked, "Have you heard about the latest cases while you were out of town?"

Grissom shook his head, not wanting to give away any unnecessary information. The fact was he did know, at least about one. He continued fingering through messages and assignment slips then let them drop to the desk, giving Nick his full attention.

"We've got some odd ones and they have this feel about them, something... familiar. But I can't put my finger on it."

Indicating the files in Nick's hands, he asked. "Are those some of the case files?"

The younger CSI nodded while he flipped through three before he pulled out a file and placed it in Grissom's outstretched hand. Settling back in his seat, Nick watched intently as Grissom opened it, staring silently at the picture before him; a subtle twitch appeared in the older man's right cheek.

A glimmer of a smirk appeared on Nick's lips as his suspicions were assured.

The picture Grissom was so engrossed in showed a deep hole lined in cement, with large chunks of cement also piled around the edges. Inside, a little girl, possibly only seven or eight years old sat huddled in the base, surrounded up to the middle of her chest with water. The walls glistened with moisture and an unknown substance created small dark splotches all over them. As Grissom fished around his desk for a magnifying glass, he asked Nick what the splotches were.

He heard the deep-throated groan before locking eyes with the younger man when he answered, "Bugs."

Grissom stopped his search and picked the picture back up slowly, staring into the face of the child. "Is she alive?"

"No. There was too much infection from the bites. Doc's observation is that she'd been down there for several days."

Looking over the rims of his glasses, he asked, "What type of bugs?"

The Texan reached over the desk and turned the pages in the file until he came across a list of Latin names. He remained standing, as Grissom looked it over.

Glancing up, he sternly demanded, "Do not let Sara see this case."

Nick frowned, "Sara? How would she? She's not even here."

While closing the file, Grissom nodded, "No, but she will be – tonight as a matter of fact. She's returned, sent in to help with the Manderson case."

"Then why would she–" Nick picked the file back up, his hand beginning to shake. "This is connected isn't it? And the other cases might be, too?

"I don't know about the others, yet. I'll look them over before I head back home. I prefer to be the one to tell her, Nick."

"Is she staying with you?"

Although benign in its simplicity the tone of his question was loaded with innuendo and if Grissom wasn't mistaken, a touch of protectiveness. It was too bad he couldn't wheedle a little more reaction from him, but he wasn't one to lie to those close to him.

"No."

Nick paused, as if gauging the veracity of Grissom's answer, and finding it sincere, simply nodded and asked, "What do you want me to do next?"

The older man shrugged. "Once I figure out whether or not there's a connection, the next move will present itself. In the meantime, Catherine is also working an angle on another case that I have a feeling will shed some light on these others. Get with her and compare the two, see if there is any tangible connection."

When he was finally alone again, Grissom picked up the photo, burning the tragic image to memory. The meaning behind all these cases would soon present itself to them, he was sure. But he wondered if any of them would be prepared for it when it finally did.


	6. Prisoner of Fate

A/N: I want to thank all those who are reading this fic and although there aren't many reviews, I can see by the counter thatmany are enjoying it. I know the last 2 chapters were small but they're that way for a reason. I hope you got a feel for what is coming up.

Thanks again to Coolbyrne for the consistent beta'ing and hopefully I'm learning something in the process.

* * *

Later in Trace, Catherine, Nick and Warrick sat around one layout table working on a specific section of a pile of items from their most recent scene. Catherine swung the table lamp closer to an article of clothing she was examining, and squinted at the material. She tugged a small hair from the forearm of the shirt and happily said, "I got something here, guys." 

Warrick and Nick both looked in her direction and awaited her verdict while she gently pulled the hair out with a pair of tweezers. They were disappointed, however, when she grimaced and said, "No follicle tag."

Their hearts sunk at the prospect of not finding any solid evidence to give them a lead. The body had been so badly disfigured they were unable to discern the victim's identity. Several of her teeth had been extracted before she died and her fingertips had presumably been burned with cigarettes. Her DNA wasn't a match to anything in their system.

"I don't see, with as little as we do know, how we could possibly connect this with either the Manderson case or the younger Jane Doe case," Catherine sighed. Eyeing Nick, a sudden feeling of intuition had her asking the young CSI, "Why did Grissom say he thought this would be connected to either of those?"

Nick shrugged and replied, "He never said, but I had the feeling he knew something more about this case than what he was willing to share. Of course, Sara might have some –"

"Sara?" The other two CSIs both asked.

Mouth ajar at his blunder, Nick appeared to shrink in his chair right before their eyes.

Warrick leaned on the table and asked him, "What's this got to do with her? Is Greg involved?"

Catherine, arms now firmly crossed at her chest, waited with Warrick for Nick to answer.

When he told them that Grissom had returned and what their conversation had uncovered on the younger Jane Doe's case he'd left out the information about Sara being in town. He had intended to let Grissom explain her arrival to them, but as always, he slipped. Unsure how much he could give away without his boss killing him in the end, he hunched over the table and conspiratorially offered, "Grissom indicated she was in town and that he wanted to be the one to tell her about the case. He didn't say anything more, except that she wasn't staying with him. And from his tone, I don't think he was happy about that." He added, "I got the impression he didn't want that information shared."

"No, he probably didn't." Catherine wasn't sure if she was upset more with the lack of evidence in this case or Grissom's lack of trust with his team in regards to personal matters. Not that they were all completely innocent when it came to gossip, but they knew when to keep their mouths shut ­– they'd proven themselves after returning months ago from Acapulco. She was about to ask Nick if he knew why Sara was here, when Grissom came striding through the door.

"Anything so far?" he asked with alacrity. He was met with blank stares. "What?"

"Well hello to you too, Grissom." Catherine was the first to pounce.

Warrick slid in a quick, "When were you going to tell us?"

Grissom glanced between the two then over to Nick, eyebrow raised.

Instead of acknowledging it, Nick asked, "Why is Sara here?"

Grissom thought he'd explained well enough earlier, but maybe he didn't fully comprehend. Catherine would know why since she was there when he decided to call in help. "I asked for help with the Manderson case." The look he garnered from Catherine told him she also didn't understand.

"Wait. They sent Sara? She's not FBI, why her?" she asked.

"There's something about the case... these cases that led you to believe there was more than a standard crime and when you asked for help, they sent in Sara? That doesn't add up, Gris." Warrick's expression changed to one of incredulity as the wheels in his mind had begun piecing the puzzle together. "It's a Pretender doing this?"

The older man shook his head. "I don't know for sure, not exactly. Sara wasn't completely sure either, but she's been edgy about it and believes it could be someone trained... like her."

"I'd bet good money that she knew before you contacted her." Catherine was irked about the situation and the addition of Sara didn't help. It wasn't that she didn't want her help or disliked the younger, former CSI. It was simply that this case was going nowhere in a hurry. The lab was second best in the country and yet they were just keeping their heads above water and moving swiftly out of shallow water into the deep end.

Grissom knew his team wanted more answers. The only thing he could give them, however, was his support. Although he and Sara discussed much of what he knew of the Manderson case and a little of what he could glean about this other case of Catherine's, he was still in the dark with the rest of them. It was the blind leading the blind. Sara would have to give him something substantial before the night was through.

And that something came sooner than he expected. No less than a half hour after talking with the team, Sara tapped on his office door as he was perusing a memo from Conrad Ecklie. He looked up and a smile instantly crept across his face. He tossed the memo aside and went to her rather than waiting for her to enter and take a seat.

"I'm sorry about our arrival. I knew the team that's in place here would want to debrief me and introduce me to the new location they set up. It was a bit rushed in my opinion. Sometimes the CIA act before they think and it trickles down into everything else they do." She didn't waste a moment more on the explanation; instead, she leaned closer and kissed Grissom squarely on the lips, surprising him.

Before he could say anything, she continued, "I need to speak with your new director and the Sheriff, probably Ecklie too. It'll make things smoother if I get that out of the way first."

His brow furrowed in concern as he listened to her. When Sara was anxious she either tended to shut others out and keep to herself, or she rambled on about inconsequential things depending on the situation. With him she always rambled. Why she was doing it now had him bewildered. She didn't have a problem with confrontations, especially when she was in the right, so what was causing her anxiety? "Do you want me to come with you?" he offered.

Her eyebrows lifted as if surprised. "No, that's all right. I'll be fine."

Her voice quivered a mere second, but it was enough for Grissom to catch it. Something had her scared. It was no longer just anxiety, it was fear. And there was only one thing he knew that could scare her enough for her emotions to slip, and it wasn't bugs. It was the organization that had stolen her and tampered with her life – the Triumvirate. He didn't like the thoughts his mind had conjured up. What would she do if he called her on it, let her know that her fear had slipped through? Would she push him away? Would she disappear again? They'd just started moving forward and he didn't want to lose her again. He kept these thoughts to himself and held his tongue.

Only the Fates knew that he should have let her go, and he'd soon learn that the hard way.


	7. Welcome Home

A/N: Thanks again to Coolbyrne for the beta work and to Moggie for keeping my head clear through a rough several months.

Reviews people, reviews. They're necessarylike food to keep me on my toes.

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"Does Ecklie and your new Director know that I'm here to work with your team?" Sara asked Grissom as they walked casually from his office to Trace. Grissom had informed her that he wanted her to get sufficiently settled. He had every hope that she would be able to shed some light on the little evidence they'd gathered and continued to comb through for the umpteenth time. A couple of lab techs looked their way, shock written over their faces. She waved and smiled as they passed by but not stopping to chat with any. 

Ignoring the stunned looks their way, not quite able to hold back a grin that Sara was really there, he answered, "Yes, I met with them an hour ago, filled them in as much as I dared. They tried to get me to say more, but –"

"You feigned ignorance?" she filled in, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

"Uh, yeah, something like that." They shared a chuckle in earnest.

Falling silent as they reached Trace, they looked on as two heads were bent in earnest. One was writing on a tablet and the other was sifting through a sorted pile and by the number of sacks on the floor, the pile had dwindled considerably.

Sara casually leaned against the door, arms crossed in front of her chest and a smirk shaped her face. Clearing her throat, both heads suddenly looked her way and then the scrape of chairs being pushed back hastily echoed in the small room.

Warrick and Catherine both stepped forward, each vying for the opportunity to greet her. Warrick, very gentlemanly, waved Catherine forward and waited while she and Sara hugged and said their hellos. Then he moved in, pouncing on Sara with a tremendous bear hug, nearly knocking the wind from her.

"Okay, big guy," she gasped. "Thank you, but I really need air to live, ya' know."

He chuckled thickly. "It's just great to see you, Sara," he said.

"Thanks, it's good to be back." And she meant it. Glancing through the glass walls and around the lab, she asked, "Where's Nick?"

Grissom responded, "He's got court at ten o'clock this morning," looking at his watch as he spoke, "in about three hours. I sent him home earlier to get some sleep."

"Okay, so..." Sara looked from one to the other expectantly, but when they didn't speak, she asked, "How about you show me the photos of the scenes to start with?"

"That's as good as any place to start," Grissom agreed. He motioned for her to precede him out the door, stopping briefly to share a hesitant glance with Warrick and Catherine. He recovered quickly then directed her down the hallway, as if she'd never been at the lab before.

Catherine and Warrick watched them leave, each intrigued by the subtle nuances between Grissom and Sara. They'd known before coming home from Acapulco that the two had formed an intimate relationship, but neither knew if Sara had put an end to it when she'd found Grissom watching the DSAs of her training and childhood. Catherine noted the concerned look on Warrick's face and was surprised to find his handsome features marred with concern. "What's wrong?"

"Hmm?"

"Is there a reason you look so grim at Sara's return?"

"What? No, no, I just... I wonder how things will work." His voice lowered to almost a whisper as he contemplated the effects of Sara's arrival.

"We could always give them a helping hand, if you know –"

"No." Warrick spun on her and adamantly stated. "We won't interfere."

Catherine began again, "Warrick, it's not as if –"

"I said no. The last thing they need is for us to get in the middle." He sighed. "Sara's had enough people tampering with her life, interfering in it. She doesn't need us to add to her misery."

Catherine stared at him with renewed respect. He had a point, a damn good one. She only wished she'd realized it before she'd suggested anything. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just want so much for them to get it back on track and make up for lost time. They both certainly deserve it."

It was nearing noon and Grissom and Sara were studiously staring at the spread of photos on the table before them. They'd taken over an unused layout room, photos spread from one end of the table to the other. Looking at them for well over six hours, Grissom had begun to feel the effects of very little sleep. Not having slept since the night he spent with Sara in Washington. He left her there, heading offto retrieve somecoffee and a couple of files relating to two of the cases and was on his way back when he spotted Nick entering the locker room. He back peddled quickly and followed Nick inside.

"Hey, Nick?"

Nick had already removed his jacket and was now loosening his tie so he could change into suitable work clothes. "Ugh, why is it every defense lawyer you face on the stand has to be an ass?"

Grissom stopped short. He hadn't heard anything yet about the hearing and whether or not their evidence had stuck. He was now a little concerned. "Did everything turn out okay?"

Nick sat down on a bench, prying his shoes off, and sighed. "Yeah, it did. But having to sit there and take that sh..." he sighed miserably and continued, "it just makes everything you do seem so... worthless."

Grissom wasn't sure what he could say to alleviate Nick's feelings, except by pointing out one very obvious fact. "They balance it out."

Nick looked askance at him. "What?"

Taking a seat next to Nick, he explained, "Look at it this way. Their job is to explore any avenue to ensure their client is given a fair chance. They balance out the scales of justice, without the defense there'd only be an offense. Think football. If a quarterback headed out to the field alone to face the opposing side, would you consider that a fair match up?"

Nick shook his head enthusiastically, "No, he'd get clobbered. There'd be no game." He smiled with understanding. "I know all that, Grissom. It's just too bad they can't do it without trying to make you out to be a fumbling idiot."

"You're not the idiot, Nick. The accused is and too often the defense usually helps to establish that."

Nick chuckled. "They certainly did today."

"I have something that might brighten your day, a little," Grissom said with all the enthusiasm the younger man had ever heard from him.

Interested, Nick asked, "Hmm, what would that be?"

"We have a visitor."

Visitor's at the lab were usually people in the same field or once in awhile they would be someone who had worked there at some time in the past. His disinterest had him presenting his back to Grissom as he stuffed his dress shirt in his duffle bag. Then his movements halted. When he straightened and looked back at the older CSI, his expression was of hopeful disbelief.

"She's in Layout Room 3."

Seconds later, still buttoning his shirt he'd hastily thrown on his back, they could hear the laughter tumbling out of the room as they approached. Nick looked over to gauge Grissom's reaction and it was then that he noticed the brightness in his supervisor's eyes and the revival of spirit in his expression.

No one other than their immediate team understood the dynamic that had come to light between him and Sara. So when he walked through the door to the layout room and glimpsed a couple of people standing around the far table laughing, no one seemed to notice him. They did, however, notice Grissom and one at a time began to quietly quit the room, barely giving Nick a second glance as they passed.

Sara, clearly discerning that something was afoot by the sudden silence, but not knowing why, looked back and locked her gaze with another set of eyes.

She didn't know how Nick would react to her return. Catherine and Warrick took it in stride, just as she'd guessed. But Nick... he was the unknown variant. With the information that had been thrown at him back in Acapulco, seeing her could either be just as terrific as Grissom's reaction or heart wrenching if he turned around and walked out the door. "Hey," she said, standing on wobbly knees.

"Hey," Nick welcomed her in the only way he could, his throat already too tight to say more.

Nick would never be a good poker player. With swift strides he moved around the table and greeted her the only way a brother should, a kiss on the cheek and a hug that would nearly make her lungs collapse.

Teary-eyed, they pulled apart, each speaking their minds at the same time then found their rhythm in conversation.

Grissom, now flanked by Warrick and Catherine, looked on with amusement. It was like a family reunion of sorts. While Nick and Sara caught up, Grissom, Warrick and Catherine did the same, discussing what Sara had pinpointed in the photos. Nothing concrete as of yet, but a few things they could take a look into, at least it would give Brass something to do.

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Now it's your turn... send me a review and something to consider: **What would Grissom do if he had to watch, up close and personal, Sara killing someone due to her work?** Give me your thoughts! 


	8. The Prey

A/N: Thanks again, Coolbyrne. What would I do without you! Hey everyone,I have bad news. Due to an unusually heavy workload for the next two to three weeks I may not be posting another chapter for 2 weeks and the next not for another 2 weeks after that. I'm doing the work of 4 people at my job and my 2nd job is just as bad. Don't worry though, I won't leave it for long. If I'm able, I'll post as regular, but I'm just letting you all know in case I can't.

I've been asked for some fluff... it won't be happening in this one or the next.

Please REVIEW! I can't keep doing this without some words from you.

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Two hours after the reunion with Nick it was nearing the time to pack up and go home. Grissom had asked Sara to come back to his place, but when she hesitated, he questioned her. 

"I don't think it's a good idea, Gris." She placed the last of the files into Jane Doe's case box, flipping the lid on it as she tried to explain. "It's just safer if I don't right now. There's too much at stake, knowing what I do from these cases and how closely related to my life they are. I just don't want to put you in that position."

Grissom was a man of knowledge and understanding, wise in his forty-nine years, but at this moment no one would've known it. His expression one of dumbfounded ignorance, he asked, "What position?"

Sara stopped in her tracks. Looking in his eyes, she could see he really didn't get it. He didn't get that there was something sinister just lurking around the corner and ready to pounce. She wasn't the predator this time – she was the prey. Anyone close to her who showed the slightest weakness would quickly become the lower portion of the food chain, easy to snatch and easy to bait.

"I don't want a repeat of Acapulco. You're too close in this, Grissom. I don't want..." she sighed, getting a handle on her emotions that were so close to falling over the edge. "The last thing I need is for you to be the one dangling on the hook this time."

A light bulb inside his head flickered and his eyes seemed to clear, dawning recognition as transparent as crystal. "You think they're after you... that they'd use me to get to you?"

Her eyes had a burning, far away look in them, neither seeing him or anything else around her. He called her name twice and then touched her arm before she came back to him. Her voice low, "If they knew how close we've become, how much I nee –" she shook her head in earnest as if to clear all thoughts and hefted the box into her arms. Shifting around him, she began walking down the hallway to evidence lock up

It took him a moment to register she'd left and he had to hustle to catch up to her. "Sara."

She kept walking, her gait steady and determined, her lips firmly pressed together. She didn't want this discussion, didn't want to acknowledge out loudher need for something, of someone.

After entering the evidence room, Grissom was able to finally grasp her elbow and swung her around much as he did at the agency.

A low growl came from deep inside her, pinning him against the wall with the box in her hands, she demanded, "Stop doing that."

"Well, if you'd stop and acknowledge me, I wouldn't have to." Grissom growled and pushed the box and her back against the opposite wall. There was a glimmer of fear in her eyes, and Grissom was lost in them. He knew she didn't fear him, and he also knew that showing fear was not an option for her. Her wall was down and he'd been let in, but it wasn't by her choice. She was truly afraid.

Taking the box from her hands, he stooped to place it on the floor. When he stood again, Sara was leaning against the wall; her head lilting to the right with unshed tears glistening in her eyes. He wanted to comfort her, but the situation wouldn't allow for it. Instead he offered what he could, the warmth of his touch. His hands clasped her shoulders and with a little shake he was able to coax her into facing him. Staring in her eyes, he asked, "What aren't you telling me, Sara?"

She sniffed to keep back the tears, but remained silent as she glancedaway from him once again.

"Sara, you know as well as I do that lack of information is just as dangerous as too much. If you don't fill me in, how can I protect myself, or the team?" He released his grip and stepped back to lean against the other wall. It became a standoff between them, and Grissom knew if he waited long enough, he'd win out. Minutes crawled by, but he didn't budge. And soon he was rewarded with a frustrated sigh.

"I don't really know as much as I need to. There's just enough to simulate several different scenarios that all end horribly wrong," her voice a whisper, holding the same note of fear that Grissom had glimpsed earlier in her eyes. "And not just for me."

"Are you getting superstitious on me?" His attempt to lighten things helped and he got a pursed grin from her. "Listen, nothing is set in stone, and you know that we need as much information as we can to solve this. But until then, we both need some sleep. Let's go." Grissom held his hand out for her to take when a shadow fell over them. They both looked to the doorway.

Warrick's smile warmed them, and gave them hope that just maybe they'd get somewhere. "Doc found something. We're heading down. Care to join us?"

A shared look, the raise of an eyebrow, and Grissom led Sara out of the small room to follow Warrick to the morgue.

Nick and Catherine were already there when they arrived, but Doc was nowhere in sight.

Catherine nodded to a side doorway, "He went to get something, a book of some sort." As she said it, Doc walked in, one hand leaning on his cane and the other held open a textbook sized tome.

"I've got something I wanted you to take a look at. I've never seen it before, but I have heard it referenced. I just can't remember where."

Laid out on the table between him and the nightshift team was the body of their Jane Doe. Setting the book aside, he grasped the young woman's head and shoulder and pulled her toward him. Moving the woman's hair to the side, he asked, "Take a look at her hairline. See anything?"

Grissom bent to take a closer look. Catherine who was the nearest did the same while the others peered over their shoulders, all savefor Sara. She'd taken a hesitant step back but kept her eyes on the victim.

Catherine shook her head and Grissom peered up at Doc for an answer. Neither could see anything of significance.

With a frustrated sigh, Doc Robbins pulled a magnifying lamp over the area he'd indicated and asked them to look again. Grissom must have seen it; because he straightened significantly to give the others pause.

He looked to his left for Sara, but she wasn't there. Looking behind, he found her sitting in a chair, head in her hands.

"It's a barcode."

Doc's surprise was plain on his face. Knowing no one else had yet seen what Grissom had, he asked, "How did you know?"

Sara lifted her head and folded her hands onto her knees, clasping them tensely. She couldn't answer him, not without more questions. She looked to Grissom for an explanation.

Grissom cleared his throat and explained, "It's similar to another case."

"It's an ongoing investigation that Sara has been working on away from here," Catherine interjected, hoping to stem the doctor's questions. It did the trick.

"Okay," the medical examiner retrieved a file on the counter behind him and handed it to Grissom. "I took a photo. If it's a barcode, what information will it supply?"

Grissom replied, "I don't know, but there's only one way to find out."

The team filed out into the hallway and waited for the older CSI to join them, each holding their own suspicions to themselves.

When Grissom and Sara rejoined them, he directed them to go home and get some rest. They balked at the initiative at first, but he explained that there wasn't anything they could do at the moment. They'd have to wait to retrieve the information from the barcode until Sara could gain access to the equipment necessary.

How he'd figured it out, Sara didn't know. The fact that there was a barcode on the woman's neck, in the same place as her own was certainly a dead giveaway. It seemed however, that Grissom was the only one other than herself to piece it together. The woman had been a Pretender.


	9. The quiet before the storm

A/N: The formatting was so much better on here 4 years ago. Check out my website for future updates, it's in my profile.

Sunlight filtered through the blinds of his fourth story office and the warmth of the sun seeped into his back and neck. It should have warmed his body, but the phone conversation he'd just had with Sarsha had chilled him to the bone. A shiver ran through him and made him stand abruptly. The sudden spurt of action propelled him to grab his suit jacket and briefcase. Sarsha had made it clear her team was necessary, even if Miss Parker had shown literally at her doorstep. Jarod was still missing and to him that was all the motivation he needed to set things in motion.

The Director would have no problem with his request to head up this mission. Jarod was too valuable a commodity for them to ignore the situation and doubly important was the fact that all of the incoming information led to Sarsha. They would use whatever means available to insure her safety.

There was one periphery item that worried him. There would need to be a leak of misinformation about his whereabouts as well as that of Sarsha to keep Mr. Quinn in the dark. There seemed to be some sort of proprietary fixation by him on Sarsha. He'd need help from the Director and several others to keep this tight-lipped. And he couldn't trust very many people in his arena. Right now, the only ones he could trust would be the Director and Sarsha's team. With Jarod's disappearance not even his team could be relied upon.

As he walked through the corridors leading to Director Gage's office, he dialed Greg Sanders' cell phone.

"Sanders."

"It's Jackson. Have you seen or spoken to Sarsha lately?" He lowered his voice as he talked, avoiding prying ears from hearing their conversation.

"Yes. I just spoke with her about half an hour ago. Why?"

"She asked me to gather her team. I've just received new information, and Greg," Jackson paused. "There is noticeable activity in the southeast."

The sound of the younger agent's voice over the phone changed markedly, deeper and more clipped, completely business. "Did you tell her yet?"

Jackson hesitated, "No. Listen, Jarod is missing and up until an hour ago, so had Miss Parker. She's in Vegas."

"Why there? Now?"

"She asked at the lab for her."

Greg's silence on the other end grew deafening until Jackson couldn't take it anymore. "Greg, I know Sarsha was going to meet with her –"

"We both know that Miss Parker would never turn Jarod over to the Triumvirate. Not after what they did to her father."

"That's my thought as well. Here's the plan. I'm meeting with Gage in just a few minutes. I need you to get in contact with Sarsha, keep your eyes glued to her and her whereabouts at all times."

"I should probably let Grissom in on this as they've been spending their time together."

Jackson thought this over momentarily and realized if they were going to be shadowing her, she wouldn't want Grissom involved. She would've said something if she had. "I wouldn't Greg, not without her go. Get a feel for the situation first and how much she's including him."

"Understood. Two hour intervals, talk to you then."

THE LIGHTS were off and the room was silent. Grissom almost turned away but his eyes had already adjusted to the darkness and he saw Sara's sitting form in the back of the room. For a moment, he was slightly worried, but as he approached he could see that she was alert – just not present. With no response from her after clearing his throat, he figured she was probably running a _sim_, as they called it. Not knowing about the call to Jackson or the surprise visit from Miss Parker, he assumed she was acting on information from Greg.

He waited for her to come out of the self-induced trance on her own and was soon lost in his own thoughts. If it hadn't been for the cases, he imagined that they'd be spending their days exploring the sites of the capital and historical monuments, or just lazing the day away in his hotel room. Instead, they were caught up in this web of mystery.

A hand on his shoulder and a soft, "Griss" in his ear pulled him back to the present. Sara was bent over him, her brow knitted together in concern and her hand still on his shoulder. "Where were you?"

"Wishing we were elsewhere." A wistful grin lifted the corners of his mouth.

Her lips puckered in only the way Sara could do, it was a knowing smile, telling him that she had something on her mind. "Why don't we do something about that?" The pucker morphed into a mischievous smile, contagious in its effect on him.

The reservations about their relationship that she seemed to have earlier, clearly were set aside now. He reached for her, pulling her close and kept her hand in his as they walked out of the lab.

Grissom started to lead her to his Yukon, but she had other ideas. Tugging on his arm, they head over to hers; a sleek, black Jaguar with generic license plates. His eyebrows lift, curious about her choice he asks, "Yours?"

She smiled brightly, like a young girl with her first car and proud to show it off. "It was my first. I had my first lesson in a Jag and whenever I was on an assignment, it was what I drove. Their fast, dependable and – gorgeous." Spoken like a woman in love.

Was that a giggle he heard? For someone who hadn't had any sleep in nearly 48 hours, she was spunky. Ideas of what that energy could be better used for flitted through his mind and ended up on his lips in a devilish smile.

Sara saw right through it. "By the time we get to my place, we're going to be too tired for any of that."

Caught out, Grissom couldn't help the deep red coloring his cheeks and ears. She knew how to read him.

They drove south for several miles, past the outskirts of the city and then headed east for several more. Unexpectedly, Sara turned right. It was sudden because he hadn't even seen the road. Looking back, through the rear window, he could understand why; the dense trees and undergrowth filled the empty space, cocooning them in cover.

A few more miles, and he saw a dilapidated building, so far gone that he wondered why it hadn't been condemned and torn down. As they approached he could see a car parked on the right rear side of it, nearly obscure in its position among the trees. His hope for a quiet interlude was dashed upon seeing it.

"How many are here?"

"Only one. Greg came in a few days ahead of me to organize the place."

A groan escaped him, and Sara grinned secretively. "It's not what you think."

His harrumph at her optimism made her chuckle. "Really," she said and continued impishly, "It's a disguise."

As she pulled the car around to the back, he noted that Greg's car was also a Jaguar. Grissom began to wonder if it wasn't a standard for their type of work.

Greg didn't come out and greet them as Grissom thought he might. Instead, Sara led him inside, and down a long hallway. A door on the right was open and Greg stood at the window staring out. He turned as they approached. This wasn't the man Grissom remembered from a year before or even the man he'd been in Acapulco. His eyes were stony, and his complexion dark. He'd been in the sun and more so than when he lived here.

Grissom watched Sara give the younger man a quick hug, the tension visibly palpable. The shared look between the two was chockfull of information but the only thing Grissom gleaned from the silent conversation was that Greg was on active duty – Sara was in danger.

The two men finally shook hands and Greg's grip was meaningful, a warning to be alert. Somewhere Grissom knew he'd missed something, or something had been concealed. He looked to Sara to see if it were true. For some odd reason, he thought she was purposely shielding him. He could ask all the questions he wanted, but if she didn't want to tell him she'd never answer.

Greg asked, "I know you're tired, but if you're hungry there's salad in the fridge."

"I'm famished," Sara declared and her stomach agreed. The rumbling sound dispersed the thick tension that had fallen over the small group. Sara's embarrassment was the trigger for a round of chuckles.

Greg left them later after their light lunch and closed himself off in his small office. Sara showed Grissom around the main floor, but when he didn't see a bedroom, he asked, "And where are you supposed to sleep?" His eyes drifted upward, "Hang from the rafters, maybe?"

She giggled, "No. Here, let me show you." She walked to the far wall and just when Grissom thought she'd walk into it, her hand lifted, pressed and a doorway slid open directly in front of her. She waved him forward.

The elevator was compact but clean and in good working order. She pressed a button labeled III and they began their decent. When they exited, the area before them resembled the lower level of Jarod's operating center – the Arena. It was smaller in comparison and not nearly as many terminals, only a handful and none were turned on, of course save for them, no one else was present.

She guided him toward a short hallway with multiple doors and opened the second on their right. The room definitely wasn't meant for a bedroom, but it was sufficient. The walls of course were cement, but had been given a good coat of sage-colored paint. The bed, situated in the corner diagonally, was covered in a deeper almost pine-colored comforter with matching pillows at the headboard. A nightstand accompanied it as well as a tall dresser on the opposite side of the bed. He closed the door to see another door behind the main entry, presumably a closet.

Sara had long since divested herself of her shoes and began pulling the bed covers down. Her intention was clear and he knew she needed rest, not the need to feel on the ready. She wasn't going to sleep in her clothes. Before she could crawl under the cover, he grasped her shoulder and gently turned her to face him.

Their eyes held for a moment before she fell into him, her arms sliding around his middle and his warmth cocooned her. "Hmm, I like this."

"So do I," he mumbled. Trailing soft caresses down her spine created small shivers to course through her frame. Trailing fingers further down he found the hem of her shirt and the need to touch skin, her flesh, engulfed him. Her back was cool and baby soft and it made him want more. Within moments her shirt was lying on the floor and the buttons of his shirt were loosened. Still, they clung to each other, neither making that one move that would end their connection.

In the end, exhaustion won out. The rest of their clothes soon followed the others until both were left with undergarments as their only barriers. They managed to crawl under the covers and curl together, quickly drifting off into oblivion with their last thoughts not of cases, or fear of what lay ahead when they woke. Instead, dreams came quickly, images of smiling eyes and soft caresses cradled them into a deep slumber.


	10. Descent into Darkness

A/N: Thank you to Coolbyrne and Moggie for their help with editing. To Moggie and Kait, I thank you for the encouragement. And to Cincoflex for lending me the title of the chapter.

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The extreme darkness of the room along with the coolness of the air was his first indication that he wasn't at home. His first visual indication was… nothing. There were obviously no windows because he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. But his hearing had definitely improved since his surgery. The even breathing next to him refreshed his memory. A soft thud above his head indicated that Greg was still around. He thought about the reserve Greg had shown when they'd arrive at this... operations center.

Greg had been relieved, no doubt about it. And his form, although warm and flexible when sharing a hug with Sara, had been stiff and... what was the word? Ah, yes, vigilant. He was on the look out. It didn't surprise him with the information Grissom had been presented with the last few days. If anything it would've been more surprising if Greg had been relaxed.

A twang of guilt and regret hit him in that instance. The Greg he'd known, exuberant, effervescent, and carefree was no longer the same person. Reserved and vigilant were not two words he would've used to describe the young man only a year before. It would take some time now to know this new man.

Slipping soundlessly from the bed, he searched with his hands and feet for the clothes that Sara had removed so haphazardly strewn about the floor. He picked up one small garment, apparently underwear, but definitely not his and laid it on the bed. The next was a pair of trousers, a belt still in its loops. Those were his. It took a good fifteen minutes before he was able to leave the room and find some light in the hallway, dressing quickly after shutting the door.

Exiting the elevator, an appetizing aroma of eggs, bacon and... he sniffed again. Ah yes, pancakes. The aroma tickled his nose and he used it like a tool to find the makeshift kitchen.

Greg, spatula in hand in front of him, was waiting while Grissom came around the corner.

"Smells good."

Greg smiled then turned back to his pan. "I'm pretty good at timing the amount Sara sleeps."

"She's not up yet."

"She will be."

Greg was evidently very sure of himself and the older CSI wasn't going to question it. If he did, it would come off as insulting. He wondered if the young man resented him being there.

As if reading his mind, Greg spun around with a plate full of eggs, bacon and a small pile of pancakes that he placed in front of him. With a smile, he said, "I'm glad you're here."

Grissom waited while Greg sat at the table, a plate already prepared. Several minutes went by as the two men, similar and yet so different, enjoyed their meal. Greg started playing with his food, becoming disinterested in the nourishment. It didn't go unnoticed by the older man. "Is there something you wanted to say, Greg?"

Pushing his plate away, "I need to know that you'll keep your eye on Sara. I can't be there all the time; otherwise I'd do it myself."

Grissom waited patiently. In his many years of experience, although socially inept, he knew that Greg had more to say. He was rewarded for his patience when Greg informed him of his conversation with Jackson and how Sara's team was being deployed. He ended with his orders about keeping tabs on Sara.

His worst and most recent fears were coming true. Sara was the intended target and they were closing in.

He was about to ask if Greg knew how they'd try to take her, but Greg's eyes shifted to something behind him. A soft hand caressed his shoulder and his chance was gone.

While Greg retrieved her plate, Sara sat in the seat adjacent to Grissom. She dug into the meal with a voraciousness Grissom had never seen. He realized that beyond a snack along the way, neither of them had much of a meal since arriving from D.C. As if reminding him of his own appetite his stomach growled and he returned to his meal.

For Sara's benefit, Greg retold what he'd heard about the movements of the Triumvirate, but held back the additional admonition he'd given Grissom about keeping an eye on her.

Her appetite waned considerably while he talked and before he finished she'd placed her fork on her plate and pushed back from the table.

Filling her cup with more coffee, she stood at the sink and stared out at the little window above it. Not knowing that Greg had already been informed about her team being en route, she said, "After my discussion with Miss Parker, I asked Jackson to bring the team here." When she looked back to Greg and Grissom, she understood they'd already known. With that exchange of information, there wasn't much left to do now but wait; something she'd grown used to, but she never liked.

"We should head back to the lab." Grissom stood, plate and cup in hand. He put them in the sink and then pulled Sara close. Her trembling hadn't been visible from where he'd been sitting, but her tight embrace told him her fright was real.

The three of them walked out to the car, an ominous uneasiness swirling about in the air around them. Grissom reached out to shake Greg's hand while Sara leaned in to hug the younger man. A look was shared between the two men over her shoulder, one concerned, the other reassuring.

* * *

And when Sara pulled out onto the gravel drive she hoped it wasn't the last time she'd see the younger man. 

Three miles into their drive, the soft trill of Grissom's phone broke their thought-filled trances.

"Grissom."

Sara glanced at him as he took down some directions from the person on the other end. He was tense and it had nothing to do with the call. Sara was beginning to regret tracking him down in D.C. and coming back to Las Vegas.

"That was Brass." He looked over at her, hesitating briefly realizing that she had been frowning at him. "He wants me at a scene, all hands. Do you mind?"

She shook her head and asked, "Where to?"

* * *

It was just after twilight, almost fully dark when they pulled up behind the police cruisers. They both had their kits, Sara having brought her old one from before her arrest and subsequent escape from being tried in Las Vegas. It was the one thing Matt and Jackson had kept from her old apartment. 

Brass greeted them just before they reached the tape. "Hey, Sara, it's great seeing you again." They shared a hug and he continued, "I wish it was under better circumstances."

She nodded but kept her eyes roving on the area. She heard Brass telling Grissom there were two males, Caucasians with gunshot wounds to the back of each of the head – execution style.

A sense of uneasiness swept over her as she stepped under the yellow crime scene tape. Across the vacant parking lot stood an abandoned office building, dark and ominous, the majority of windows broken and the few that were spared the destruction of vandalism were caked with the filth of who knows how many years. Trash littered the ground everywhere and she understood why so many had been called out to process, including some officers who had limited experience in evidence collection.

On her right, she glimpsed Grissom motioning for her to join him and to take a closer look at the body. Walking his direction, she continued to scan the area. Something set the hackles up on the back of her neck. He, along with Brass, was studiously scanning the area around the body while David Phillips was pronouncing preliminary findings in his flat yet oddly soothing monotone.

Setting her field case beside her, she snapped on a pair of latex gloves with the ease of experience, and squatted next to the body's head. She grimly began a deeper examination of the wound before David could whisk the body back to the morgue. She'd always hated having to wait on the transference of the body.

A few calls from behind caught her attention and she looked back. Nick, Catherine and two of the officers were pointing and clearly discussing a van that was parked on the perimeter of the lot. They'd snatched up their field kits and began methodically moving in that direction. The van seemed to have come under scrutiny because it was out of place for this location. It looked fairly new without any damage to the windows or outer shell.

Some memory twitched in the back of her brain and she stood, concentrating on that little bit of a prickle. Duly trained to acknowledge such suspicions, she advised, "Grissom, something isn't right. This is all too...déja vu."

A vacant lot, an abandoned vehicle, people roaming the grounds, getting closer to the van, then an explosive light as it blew up in a million pieces... it came to her as a vision, then a presentiment... she'd seen this before.

"Get down!" she yelled.

There was a bright light and the sound of metal being ripped apart shrieked into the night air, carrying with it a profound wave of power. It threw those nearest to it five feet into the air, hitting the hard pavement like rag dolls swept off by an arm from a tabletop. Fragments of the ripped metal, hot and fiery rained down on those within the immediate and not so immediate radius and several scrambled from beneath the raining shrapnel.

The chaotic scene Sara had envisioned became reality. She watched in slow motion as people scrambled and started yelling directions; some were running to help those that had been thrown by the blast. Sara was left standing, alone.

The consequences of the blast to her friends' lives and the reason why the incident was familiar to her, vied for her synapses' attention. Her training won out. Glancing around she noted the positioning of everyone and then turned abruptly to run toward the rim of the crime scene and the tape that cordoned it off. A man appeared out of the darkness covered from head to toe in black, a semi- automatic in his hand approaching her. Several other men appeared from out of nowhere.

Turning back, she observed the whole perimeter of the scene. At first glance, nothing, but then her eyes refocused and she could plainly make out figures in black ops emerging from the trees and brush. Then she glimpsed Grissom, stopping and turning toward her. No one else had seemed to notice what she had. Why should they? This was her vision, her simulation, and her reality.

Grissom stared behind her, yelling her name as he started to pull out his weapon. Instinctively, she took a well-placed swing at one of those behind her, toppling him with one fell swoop, and then followed with a round-house kick to another sending the surprised man flying backward into her car. When she turned to take on another, a man was already upon her and swung the butt of his gun into the side of her face. She fell to the ground facedown with a thud – out cold.


	11. Searching for Sara

"Sara!"

Grissom started. He ran toward her, weaving his way through the debris from the explosion still falling from the sky. Acrid smoke permeated the air, the stench of burning rubber and metal making his eyes water and his lungs burn. He covered his mouth with his arm, blinking against the haze. Sara's lifeless body lay on the cold, hard cement.

Someone grabbed his arm, yanking him backward. His hand involuntarily bunched into a fist as he turned toward his assailant. The butt of a rifle slammed into his skull. An explosion of pain dropped him to the ground, his hands and knees taking the brunt of the fall. He tried to shake it off, to refocus. His need to reach Sara battled against the ear-splitting pain. He searched again for her, found her. A man was squatting next to her. He lifted a syringe in the air, tapping it quickly. Grissom struggled to stand and this time received a swift kick in the stomach for his efforts.

Now, sprawled on the cement, he watched helplessly as Sara was lifted into a van and the men around him retreated to awaiting vehicles. They stopped simultaneously, laying down gunfire as they reached the perimeter. He covered his head to avoid the stinging bits of cement flying up from their bullets.

Their point was clear. Don't follow.

Grissom gripped his head, the pain was excruciating - and so was the thought that he'd never see her again. She'd been wrong. They hadn't needed to use him or anyone else as bait. They'd had it planned from the start. Sara saw it coming, but all too late.

Brass reached him first, helping him up. "What the hell is going on?"

"Hell broke loose and is riding our asses," Catherine said as she reached them. "You all right?"

Grissom grimaced, his head reeling, but managed a nod. "They were after Sara."

"No shit."

Grissom brushed off Brass's steadying hands and began walking toward the cars and where Sara had been taken. "We need to get to Greg."

"I take it that means he's nearby. Where?" Catherine asked, following him to the vehicles, shadowed by Brass.

"It's an abandoned warehouse outside the city limits," he said as he climbed into the driver's seat, sighing heavily while Brass took the back seat and Catherine climbed into the front. As he put the car in gear, Nick slid in opposite Brass.

"I'm going with," Nick said, "Warrick is going to stay behind and help out."

"Brass, you sure you shouldn't stay as well?" Catherine asked, nodding toward the chaos outside.

"You think I'm going to stay behind after this? Let's move."

Tires squealed as Grissom peeled out.

An hour later, Grissom, Greg, and Nick were in the air and heading for the east coast.

The hum of the jet's engines had quickly relaxed Nick into slumber. Grissom, however, stared out through one of the jet's small windows. Muffled conversation strained at the edges of Grissom's hearing. Greg was making phone call after phone call, in Grissom's estimation, attempting to set a plan into motion. He guessed that Jarod and possibly Jackson and Matt had been the recipients of a few of those phone calls.

Earlier, at the warehouse, Greg had met them outside, Sara's absence glaringly obvious. He took note of Brass' inclusion in the group without a word. When they reached the staging area, Greg had immediately called his Director, placing the call on speaker phone.

After laying out the situation, the Director asked, "What do you need?"

Greg replied, "Whatever you've got available."

"Use whatever means necessary to bring her back to us. I can assure you of full cooperation from every department." Director Gage's confidence in Greg's abilities was patently evident.

Brass wasn't so sure of the former lab tech, saying as much in Grissom's ear, "He's been gone for less than a year and he's in charge? It'll be the blind leading the blind."

Brass' comments didn't diminish Grissom's uneasiness with the whole situation. Greg's adoration of Sara had always been very apparent, to everyone. He knew it was a deep and emotional attachment. However, it wasn't enough to encourage him into thinking Greg could handle this situation alone. Was Greg prepared to do what was needed? He didn't voice his concerns. Greg at least had resources to fall back on. Grissom didn't even know where Sara had been taken to. When Jarod met with them, he'd know better what needed to be done.

Catherine and Brass opted to stay behind, knowing they'd have to cover for Grissom and Nick. Crime didn't stop in the city of sin just because one of theirs was missing.

* * *

A bit of small turbulence jostled him in his seat. He glanced over his shoulder at Nick. The young man hadn't woke up. Grissom returned his gaze back to the clouds. Moonlight cast an eerie blue glow off the tops of the thick clouds, reminding Grissom of cotton candy...

_"I've never had cotton candy before."_

_"Never?" Grissom asked as he handed her a cardboard cone wrapped with blue tinted wisps of the stuff._

_She was awestruck, her large brown eyes transfixed by the ball of fluff. He flicked his tongue out and snagged a piece of the blue wisps on his own cardboard cone. She watched him carefully as he took his second taste. Then she also did the same. Her eyes grew large and her lips crept up her face in pure delight. Her reaction was so childlike that Grissom was at first taken aback. How had she gone her whole life without a taste of cotton candy? _

A sudden change in air pressure shook Grissom to the present. They were landing. Slivers of clouds slipped past the window as they entered the cloud cover below them. He now knew the reason why she'd never known the taste of cotton candy.

The seat next to him dipped with a barely audible squeak. Greg leaned in toward him, invading his personal space.

Grissom was about to sternly tell him to back off when Greg said, "Sara's old haunts."

He looked back at Greg, expecting him to continue, but the the younger man nodded to the window. Grissom peered out and saw the search light's reflection on the clouds above, directing his gaze to the tiny litter of lights on the ground.

"No fly zone. We can't get any closer than this without driving in," he said, "We'll land at a small local airport and a car will take us the rest of the way."

Grissom was tired, angry and unable to reconcile the fact that this former lab tech was now in charge of finding the love of his life. Tersely he asked, "Then what?"

His attitude wasn't lost on Greg, for once he fully understood his former boss. He was in charge and Grissom wasn't. The lack of control in this situation would put anyone on edge.

"We know where they're-"

"Where are they?" Grissom asked, his attention now riveted.

"They're on a plane heading toward the Pacific-"

"We're headed in the opposite direction!" Grissom glared at the young man, his voice was heavy with sarcasm as he asked, "What about that makes sense to you?"

"We can't just follow and expect to _capture _them. We can't do this half-cocked." Greg met Grissom's glare with a confident gaze and continued, "Sara's team was about to deploy for Vegas when all of this took place. They're now at headquarters, gathering information and tracking all outgoing flights from there."

The built up tension and frustration was weighing deeply on Grissom and became apparent to Greg when Grissom sat back in his seat heavily, palming his forehead and grimacing with pain.

"Migraine?"

Grissom winced as he searched nimbly for any open wounds on his head.

"We'll land soon and when we get to The Centre, I'll have Dr. Linn get you something. Until then, you need to try to calm down. You've taken a good blow to the head and you aren't going to be any good to her. When we find her-"

He was interrupted when the pilot announced their final descent. Greg stood, put a hand on Grissom's shoulder and gave a slight squeeze as Grissom reached for his seatbelt. Grissom shrugged off the gesture, to Greg's disappointment. He moved on to Nick, waking him up and instructing him to buckle his seatbelt before taking his own seat.

Within forty-five minutes, they reached their destination – The Centre. Approaching from the West, the sun, just beginning to lighten the distant horizon, cast an eerie halo on the stone grey fortress beckoning them. As they pulled up the drive, three men exited the building and awaited their arrival.

Once inside, they were met with chaos, organized chaos. People were milling about; hastily scrambling into and out of chairs as information was being disseminated. Headphones were on, keyboards were tapping, and subdued mumbling rumbled from all corners. And Grissom's head pounded even harder.

Gripping the back of his neck and pinching in a feeble attempt to relieve some of the tension, Grissom asked, "Where in all this mess do we find Sara's team?"

"You're looking at it." Greg smiled at both of their amazement. "This is _her_ center – the main base of operations."

"I thought the warehouse-"

Greg interrupted Nick with a shake of his head. "This is it. And she hasn't actually used it yet." He ushered Nick and Grissom forward into the staging arena. On the main wall, a large monitor displayed a map of the world, with intersecting lines crisscrossing their way across the screen. While Nick and Grissom remained transfixed, unsure of what they were looking at, Greg was handed a glass of water and a pill cup. He tapped Grissom on the arm and watched as the older man downed the pills with water before asking what he'd just taken.

"The same meds you take at home." Greg reminded him that he'd seen him take the medication before.

Grissom took a moment to look around him, now surrounded by the organized chaos. The place felt cold, and not in a temperature way. The set up was eerily similar to Jarod's in Acapulco and yet the technology did not fit with the surroundings. It was all new he realized. None of it had likely been there a few years before.

Noting Greg's attention had been diverted, he looked to see what had gained his interest. On an upper floor, a woman, tall, brunette, hair neatly coiffed and steely in her pose was speaking with one of the three men who had escorted them into the building.

To his left, Greg muttered, "Miss Parker."

"And she is?" Grissom asked.

"A former agent of The Centre."

"Why is _she_ here?" Grissom was surprised that a former member of such a heinous group would be involved. But then he remembered Sydney and his involvement with Jarod and Sara in Acapulco. Miss Parker had finished her conversation and was now looking out over the arena.

"To help find Sara."

"Are you using her to gain information?"

"No." Greg shook his head. "She wouldn't be able to provide much info. Her father was the head of the Centre for many years. She spent her childhood here, more or less, just not in the same way as the other children. She knew Jarod as a boy and when they grew up and he escaped, she was in charge of his capture. And now," he grinned, "they're in a deep and meaningful relationship."

Grissom rolled his eyes. "She knew Sara also?"

"And Mary Jane. She had also just visited Sara in Vegas, at the lab."

"Sara never-"

"She wouldn't have. Miss Parker was looking for Jarod. He's gone missing as well."

It hadn't occurred to Grissom that contact with Jarod hadn't even been attempted. He'd assumed he'd been called and would meet them at The Centre. He was devastated. His heart plummeted in despair, his thoughts crowded with images as horrifying as he'd ever imagined. "What about Matt or Jackson?"

Greg turned sorrowful eyes on him. "Matt was killed several weeks ago. Sara blames herself. She took it especially hard."

Miss Parker turned to them, nodded and then looked toward the monitor. The air around them suddenly felt much heavier, as if all the air had been sucked out. Greg and Grissom both turned to the monitor to see what had grabbed her attention so swiftly. One of the crisscrossing lines was now a vibrant red and blinking with an X appearing on one end, directly over Hawaii.

Nick, having only half-listened to their conversation and become engrossed with the actions of those surrounding them, said, "We've found their plane."

"They're probably stopping for fuel, and will then continue on," Greg offered.

"Heading for Africa," Miss Parker drawled in Grissom's ear.

He glanced at her, a bit surprised to see her standing next to him, so quickly and so close. "Why do you assume Africa?"

"That's where the Triumvirate's headquarters are," she stated, "I just don't know where exactly."

Grissom had to ask, "Who does?"

His gaze teetered from hers to Greg's, until Greg cleared his throat and said, "Mr. Raines."


	12. To dance with the devil

"You're not going to see him, Greg," Miss Parker said as she tracked Greg down one of the hallways.

"I don't see any other alternative, do you? Does Sydney know where they're located?" Greg asked and when Miss Parker sighed, he knew his answer. "I have no other choice."

"Raines was the man responsible for Sara's training?" Nick asked. He and Grissom were trailing close behind.

"Yes. And he's the only one we have right now who can tell us where the Triumvirate is headquartered and just maybe he can also give us some insight on why they, after all these years, targeted Sara." Greg stopped mid-stride, Miss Parker nearly running into him. "Hell, they didn't even attempt to search for her when she first escaped. For some reason they only wanted Jarod." Miss Parker dipped her head. "Why was that?"

"I don't know. I never did find out."

"Enough!" Grissom said. "I don't care about the reasons why anything was done. I just want to get Sara back and out of this mess."

Greg, feeling totally reprehensible, quietly acknowledged the truth in Grissom's words. It really didn't matter why.

"Where is this Raines, anyway?" Nick asked.

"He's in federal lock-up, at an undisclosed facility," Miss Parker supplied.

"I'm going to interview him, ask what needs to be asked and then get back here. In the meantime,-"

"I'm going with," Grissom said, interrupting the younger man.

"So am I." Nick added.

"We can't all go. Raines will feed on our frenzy to find Sara. If we keep this to a mere interview, we'll get the information without a lot of riddles along the way," Greg argued.

"Nick?" Miss Parker asked while looking the young man over from head to toe, he nodded, so she continued, "I could use some help making arrangements for travel. But Greg, I think that if you really feel you have to do this then it would be wise to allow Mr. Grissom a chance to meet Mr. Raines."

Nick glanced from one man to the other and then nodded in agreement that he should stay behind. Immediately, Greg and Grissom continued on down the hallway, while Miss Parker and Nick retraced their steps to the staging arena.

As he followed Greg, Grissom thought about Sara, here, in this cold, unloving, sterile environment. The DSAs he had viewed in Acapulco had shown glimpses of what might be hidden behind these closed doors. Although, he now guessed that the DSAs were actually filmed in other, deeper areas of the building, far away from the main entrance.

Sara had grown up here, had become the woman she is today even after living in such a world for so many years.

She was the strongest person he'd ever known, and yet she'd still been taken from him. If he didn't get a handle on his fear, and his heartache, he wouldn't be of any use to her, just as Greg had predicted on the plane. This was a case, it had to be, he had to detach and look at this as he would any other case.

"Where are we headed?" Grissom finally asked.

Greg pointed to a door on the right, directing Grissom to enter, without stopping. They went through the door while Greg explained that he needed to grab a few things. Grissom then realized they'd left Vegas with only the clothes on their backs.

"We were in such a rush, Nick and I didn't have a chance to bring anything along," said Grissom.

Greg stopped his rummaging and roared with laughter. "That's what she was doing."

"Who?"

"Miss - Parker," Greg stuttered through his laughing. "I wondered why she was taking such a long look at Nick. She was sizing him."

"Do we need to stop somewhere?" Grissom asked, still not understanding.

Greg shook his head. "No need, we have a storehouse of uniforms, suits and… other necessities. Miss Parker will see to Nick, I saw her looking him up and down while she directed us. I just didn't realize until now why she had." Still shaking his head and chuckling, he continued to gather a few items in a large duffel bag. Finishing quickly, he dropped the bag next to the door and they headed out. "We'll sort you out when we get back."

* * *

It was an hour in the air and two hours on the ground before they reached the compound. After three secured gates and several hallways, they finally reached the interrogation room. They stood before the one-way glass window, watching as the much older Mr. Raines was led in and sat at the lone table in the room. He wasn't handcuffed or chained and he was no longer dragging an oxygen tank behind him. It had been the last image that Grissom had of the man from a picture Jarod had shown him.

They entered the room, both showing the confidence that neither actually felt. The bile rose up in Grissom's throat at the sight of the man, and he yanked his chair back, drawing Greg's attention. One look from Greg reminded him to treat this like any other interrogation.

Mr. Raines' gravelly voice filled the air with, "What can I do for you two gentlemen?"

Grissom eased back in his chair and watched as Greg introduced them and started asking him about his time at the Centre. They were benign questions, nothing leading, vague in the extreme. Until he asked the one question Grissom had been waiting for, "Do you remember a young girl, her name was last known as Sara?"

Mr. Raines remained still for several moments until Greg asked again, "Did you know her?"

"I knew a Sara. She's dead. Died over 20 years ago," he replied carefully.

Greg pulled out a manila envelope, carefully opening it and then slipped out a photograph which he laid in front of Mr. Raines. "Is she really?"

Mr. Raines stared hard at the photo, his eyes narrowed and his back suddenly became ramrod straight.

"That was taken only three months ago, in Acapulco. By Jarod."

Grissom hadn't seen this picture but he recognized the setting. It was on the beach just down from the lounge where he'd gotten his first glimpse of her on stage after she'd left Las Vegas. She was wearing white linen slacks and a white, crepe textured blouse. Her hair was pulled up off her face, curls dancing in the wind. He wanted a copy.

"It's not possible. She died when I…" he trailed off, almost forgetting himself. "She died in an accident at The Centre."

"I'm pretty sure she didn't," Greg scoffed.

Mr. Raines stared at Grissom then at the younger man asking the questions, "I believed her to be dead. Why are you here?"

This time Grissom spoke, "Another… terrible accident has happened to her. She was abducted last night by a small army. She was quickly knocked unconscious, and then injected with… something. We'd like to know what you know about it."

Mr. Raines laughed at them, looked around at the room and nodded toward the window, "I don't get out much these days. I don't have any information."

"But you do," Greg started, "We believe your bosses were behind this abduction. And we want to know where they would take her."

Mr. Raines' smile slowly slid off his face. The mention of the Triumvirate sobered him quickly. "If the Triumvirate are involved, don't bother. She'll already be too far gone for you to reach."

Greg shook his head, not about to accept that they wouldn't be able to retrieve her. "We've tracked them, on a flight to Hawaii. We're assuming they're heading for Africa."

Mr. Raines sneered, "You know what they say about assuming…" Greg shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "But in this case, you'd be correct."

Grissom leaned forward over the table, his voice nearly hoarse and asked, "Where are they taking her?"

He wasn't overly intimidating to Mr. Raines. The only two people ever to fully intimidate him were Miss Parker and Jarod. He stared blankly back at the man who seemed overly invested in Sara's kidnapping. Under other circumstances, he wouldn't even have been speaking with these two men. In this instance, however, he learned he'd been lied to about one of his most challenging projects. He had believed Sara dead for so many years. When the Centre was raided and overtaken, he thought he had glimpsed an image of her amongst the invasion force. Now he knew for sure. And damned if the Triumvirate would lie to him and he not be able to repay them for their deceit.

"Jarod is missing also," Greg offered as incentive.

Mr. Raines blinked and then steered his gazed back to the younger man. "They don't have him. I don't know where he'd be, but he was chased too long for them to ever get the upper hand. Sara, on the other hand, never had to. She gained normality in her life and with that she became negligent."

"Until the normality was stripped away from her," Grissom countered. "She was recently tracked and trapped by someone else you should know... Mary Jane. And now Mary Jane is dead, at the hands of the Triumvirate."

There was no emotion on Mr. Raines' face. It just proved to Grissom that all the pain and terror he put these kids through was only a job to Raines. The man was incapable of human emotion for anyone other than himself. So Grissom was sure it wasn't remorse that motivated him to divulge useful information on the Triumvirate. It was revenge.

"If it was the Triumvirate, they'd have taken her to their headquarters. It's hidden away and buried deep within the Congo. They do have an airstrip, but if you attempted to fly in, they have their defenses…" Grissom and Greg sat back and listened as Raines continued to tell them what he knew of their headquarters.

After they left the building and began the long drive back to the airport, Greg pulled out his cell phone and called Sydney. Grissom listened as Greg asked the other man what he thought of what Mr. Raines had told them. When Greg finished his call, he told Grissom that Sydney agreed on both accounts as he'd already told Miss Parker. Jarod was more than likely free and somewhere doing research or verifying whatever it was he had already found in his search of the Centre. If the Triumvirate had Sara, as he believed they did, then yes, they'd head straight for home.

An hour later, they pulled over for gas and Grissom went inside. While he was gone Greg called Jackson and filled him in on what they were able to extract from Raines'. When Grissom returned, he clicked his phone shut but not before Grissom heard Greg say, "We'll meet you there."

"Sydney's coming in?" Grissom asked.

"No." Mouth twisted wryly, Greg eyed the older man, his eyebrows waggling. "Are you caught up on all your travel inoculations?"

* * *

_"Miranda Quinn."_

"Hi, Miranda. How are you?"

_"Oh, hi, Uncle Bobbie, it's good to hear from you. I'm doing great. How've you been?"_

Robert Quinn sat back in his chair, swiveling around to look out his office window, the enthusiasm in his nieces' greeting warming his heart. "I see my reference letter helped. Are you enjoying Las Vegas?"

_"Oh, yes. We've had some very interesting cases lately. And one of the team's former investigators returned for a couple of days. But you know, it's suddenly very tense here. Mr. Grissom and Nick have disappeared."_

"Disappeared. Really? Have they been abducted?"

_"Oh, no. They've been called away I guess, on another case. And the former CSI, Sara Sidle. I guess they went with her."_

Mr. Quinn swiveled his chair around and leaned forward on his desk, suddenly very interested. Sara Sidle. He knew she was in Las Vegas. He also knew she'd had a relationship with Mr. Grissom, and Nick Stokes. And now all three were missing. No information had been passed onto him by his contacts, officially or unofficially.

_"Uncle Quinn?"_

"I'm sorry, Miranda. Something just came across my desk. I guess I got distracted. You were saying."

_"I was just saying that the case must be big. The tension is so thick here that it could be cut with a knife..."_

Mr. Quinn half-listened to the rest of her conversation, his mind now elsewhere, and his hands typed quickly on the keys of his laptop. It didn't take long to learn that Jackson Haisley along with A.B. Stiles and Terri Lowell were unreachable.

TBC. . .

Please Review!

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A/N: I have 2 very wonderful beta's and forgot to say thank you to them on the last chapter. So, thank-you Freddie and Danielle for all the help and listening to me ramble on and on about my fic. It really helped me get through the lack of motivation. 


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